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JOHN BYERS WILSON. 



J^MINISCENT 
]^YMES 

AND OTHER VERSE 



JOHN BYERS WILSON, 

206 East 4th Avenue, 
CINCINNATI. 




FIRST EDITION 



CINCINNATI 
PRESS OF JENNINGS AND GRAHAM 



,4^^ 



OOPYRIGnT, 1911, BY 
J. B. WIIiSON 



4].^^o 






TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER 

^jt6ib: ^3[ml£g JSffilson 

WHO EARLY INSTILLED IN MY MIND A LOVE FOR VERSE, 

AND FROM WHOM I INHERIT WHATEVER OF 

POETIC ABILITY I MAY POSSESS, 

THIS BOOK IS REVERENTLY 

DEDICATED. 



PREFACE 

These poems are garlands gathered in occasional moments of 
ease, amid a life of labor, hard and often barren. 

I have swept the lyre with my untrained fingers because the 
notes I produced, however inharmonious, were inspirations and a 
comfort, when comfort oft 1 had none. 

The average mind is poetical; but it does not appreciate that 
which is offered it to-day, under the name of "real poetry," the most 
of which is based upon the curious construction and mysterious con- 
cealment of words. 

After all, there is a growing belief that poetry is a metrical 
form for the direct expression of thought, not for its concealment; 
that its highest art lies in its simplicity; that it is not necessarily 
either great or profound, because mysterious and obscure, complex 
and involved, unconventional and odd. The average mind is soon 
wearied by that poet whose chief claim to greatness consists in 
calling attention to his own ability to make himself incomprehen- 
sible. 

The plausible explanation of the popularity of many common- 
place poems is that they touch a note of human sympathy and in 
plain, home-like words reveal some large truths — not the meaning- 
less mysticisms of a Milton or Dante, the intangible dreams of 
a Poe, or the obscure fancies of a Brov/ning. 

But few people to-day care for such verse, for the simple reason 
that its art and mysticism choke out virility, simplicity and com- 
mon sense. Men have not the time for deciphering verse, and almost 
invariably, when the mystery is solved (if it is ever solved), it is 
found that it is not worth the searching. Symbolic or mysterious 
verse seldom contains any large truth or heart satisfaction; nor 
conveys any message of importance to mankind. 

This is an iconoclastic age. The busy mind has not the time to 
rhapsodize over the inscrutable. It has long been surfeited with 
the superstitious and the unsolvable. Along this line, all has been 
said than can be said. This progressive world demands a new 
song. It wants to read of the man who owns his own soul; who 
voices the spirit of liberty and the coming day. The true poet, 
however humble, will recognize no master. He will be his natural 
self, and that is just what all natural and reasonable people will 
expect of him and want him to be. He will write what his soul 
dictates, whether he meets with favor or disfavor, or whether he 
sells a book or not. He who writes to please everybody, will please 
nobody. The eternal laws of poetry are the eternal laws of human 
nature. The day has come when poetry is found to be hidden in 
everything; when poets thrill to the idea of evolution and science. 
In these hurry days of life, more and more demanding entertain- 
ment, people soon weary with the cold brilliancy of technique and 
the ornamental accomplishment of art, and wish instead that poets 
would give them some home-spun stuff for their daily lives. 

The love of verse is much like the love of woman, in which men 
see different things to admire. To him trained in the classics 
nothing is tamer than a reminiscent rhyme; others value verse 
according to its style, beauty and music; others, for the subtle, 
secret thought; others, for its humor and catchiness; but the great 
majority who read verse to-day read it simply for rest and enter- 

5 



O PREFACE 

tainment; for poetry, like music, is now associated with pleasure, 
pastime, and the spare moment. Naturalness, simplicity and indi- 
viduality are at once destroyed by any attempt to write in har- 
mony with public opinion. The individual has a conscience, of 
which he is the sole proprietor, while public opinion is a conscience 
owned by a syndicate. No one yet has ever met with the approval of 
public opinion. The fear of the disapproval of popular sentiment 
has been the death and oblivion of many a promising minor poet. 
He feared to displease — he dared not be different. He surrendered 
the best in him — he died. The best beloved poet in the world to-day 
is Robert Burns. He dared. He was up with his time. Unlike 
Browning and others, he did not conceal his honest thought, in a 
shrinking, speak-easy, mystifying manner. 

To such an extent is this fear of popular sentiment displayed 
by poets of to-day, that poetry is greatly cheapened. The most com- 
mon of novels are in greater demand. The poet is generally cari- 
catured as a long-haired, half-starved, sissified survival of the human 
species. 

The true poet, in fact, has always been earth-earthy, full of 
red blood, robust, heroic, manly and venturesome. He will not 
be fettered nor constrained. He is naturally doubting, rebellious, 
and irreverent. From Omar to Shakespeare, Goethe, Schiller, 
Heine, Pope, Burns, Voltaire, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Hugo, Tenny- 
son, Swinburne, Lowell, Emerson, Whittier and Whitman, we find 
great-bodied and great-brained men who were forever blazing the 
fires of revolt against established tyrannies, customs, creeds and 
beliefs. These are the rugged, fiery and defiant souls in whom 
nature has enshrined her greatest verse. Let me stand bravely in 
such ranks, however far adown the line the space I occupj'. 

I have made no greater attempt than to write commonplace 
verse for the common mind. There is room for every minor 
poet. There is no verse from the simplest to ' the greatest but 
matches some minds. By tests I have made, I am certain that my 
verse will fit the minds of some. I am just as certain that it will 
misfit the minds of many. Like most others who have courted the 
Muses, I have written for the pleasure it gave me and have had 
no thought or expectancy of success or reputation; and only upon 
the solicitation of many friends have I ventured to give my verse 
to the public. 

I realize that it may be justly picked to pieces, but critics of 
to-day are generally fair and see the good as well as the bad. If 
any of it possesses the genuine human qualities, it will be noted, 
and will withstand criticism. If any of it rings true to the ear, 
it is because it came straight from the heart. That which is 
worthy of living will live; and that unworthy of continued exist- 
ence will die, as it ought to, and the sooner the better. All I 
can hope for is, that out of this great pile of chaff, there is enough 
good grain to be worth the sifting. 

In conclusion I will say that if this review of old-time memories 
and experiences serves to make the reader forget his present cares; 
if it fills the dark vales of any life with but one flush of sunlight and 
beauty; if it clears from the brain but one cloud of error; if it 
drives out one base, unfounded fear; if it wears but one fetter 
from the human mind; if it but lessens one single wrong, or in 
any degree adds to honor, truth, love and joy; if it but gives a morn- 
ing cheerfulness to one despairing heart, I shall feel that it has 
been worth the while. The Autiioe. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

A Dangerous Speed 7 

Bob and Jen 9 

Old-Fashioned Flowers 10 

Old-Fashioned Folks 11 

Belated Love 12 

The Ornriest Boy in School 13 

Progress 21 

The Awakening of Spring 22 

The Call of Spring ^ 23 

Peach Blossoms 25 

A Summer Dav 26 

The Old Field Spring 28 

Adams County Paw-Paws 29 

The Bov \Yitli the Hoe 31 

Talkin' Dog and IIoss 32 

Mediocrity 33- 

The Speed in School 34 

Nature's Nuptials 36 

The Old Wash Pan 37 

The Passing Storm 41 

The Music of Nature 43 

All in a Drop of Wat( r 46 

Bob White 47 

The Minority 48 

Thought Adrift 49 

How Did It Happen 49 

The Secret Pain 50 

Untrammeleu 51 

The Crank 52 

The Road to Paradise 53 

Blind Bill 55 

The Unattainable 57 

Way up in Adams County 58 

Man's Relation to Nature 61 

Ancestry 65 

The Children of tl-.e T(>nomeuts. . 66 

Ambition 68 

The Joys of Mind 69 

Liked that Feller 70 

The Black Walnut Tree 74 

Home Ties 75 

The Chastened Joy 77 

The Hollyhock 77 

Live While You Live 78 

Hate 79 

Gitten the Sleep Out o' Your 

Eyes 80 

Blackberrying 85 



T'AGIC 

Opportunity 89 

Come One/Come All 89 

A Pat on the Hand 90 

Soft Soap 91 

The Living Death 98 

Nothingness 99 

Waiting to Di(> 100 

The Last Phase 101 

A Free Prescription 102 

On Looking at a Skeleton 104 

The Full Round Man 105 

The Cot Among the Mansions. . . 106 

Simplicity 10(> 

Helping the Birds Along 107 

The Joy Forever 108 

Baby's Laugh and M;>nim:rs 

Eyes 109 

Baby's Gone Away 110 

The Imprisoned Mind 113 

The Triumph of Reason 113 

Kickin' up Dust. 114 

Findin' Each Other Oul 121 

A Mansion Fair 123 

Angling 124 

Stirpiculture 124 

A Mint Julip 125 

My Marjorie 126 

On the Run and Jump 129 

The Only Place to Go 130 

The Struggle of the Human 132 

Short Poems 134-157 

Couplets 158-160 

Invincible Kil 

Woman Invincible 1()2 

The Poet 163 

One Sweet Summer Wove 161 

Song.- 166 

The Poet's Inspiration 1(57 

The Tear. . 168 

If Anything Should Happen Me . 169 

The World 170 

Oh Where My Soul 172 

The Old Cross Roads 173 

Destiny 175 

His Brother's KeeyifM- 176 

Original Sin 177 

Bobby 177 

Tolstoi 178 



PAGE 

In the Fight 179 

Jean Armour 180 

Poe 182 

Persistent Error 182 

Good in Everything 184 

Lincoln 186 

Hit Hard 186 

A Primal Right 188 

Had I the Power 188 

Thinkin' of the Good Things We 

Used to Have to Eat 189 

October 191 

The Militant Mission 194 

Truth 194 

Charity 195 

The Mystic Silence 196 

The Human Horoscope 198 

Transmigration 199 

This Warring, Old World 201 

Fixed Fate 202 

The Human Level 203 

Judge Not 205 

Love, the Transformer 207 

The Pursuit of Wealth 207 

^^'hen the Hounds Strike the 

Trail 210 

Old Fin Wilson's Son 213 

Hypocrite 21() 

The Workin' Class 217 

Suckin' the Sap from the Old 

Sugar Tree 218 

Uncle Ben — Sizes up some folks 

and things 221 

Uncle Ben — Figgers on Profit 

and Loss 226 

Uncle Ben— Sez His Say 229 

Uncle Ben's Last Journey 232 

The Revel in the Breast / 236 

Hope 238 

Better Off Dead 239 

The Wage Slave 241 

The Toilers Underground 2 13 

The Toiler's Dream 215 

I*oor Little Grasshopper 246 

When the Stars Shine Out 247 

A Si)ar(^ Rib 247 

My Ohl Check Shirt 248 

Wiien the Band Comes By 249 

Helpless Age 250 

A Distinction Without a Differ- 
ence 250 

Man's Millennium 251 

A Rebel Yell 252 

The Ranks of the Discont(Mit . . 254 

The Modernist 256 

Could the Flowers Si)eak 258 

Stick to Your Own Wood Pile . . 258 



PAGE 

The Measurement of Man 259 

The Eternal Chain 260 

A Valentine 261 

The Muse's Blessing 262 

Little Joys 269 

Geraldine 270 

The Fall of Life 272 

Love, the Lawless 274 

Somebody has to Sin 275 

The Right and the Wrong of It . . 278 

Children's Rights 280 

The Tramp's Repentance 281 

Poetrv in Deep A^'aters 282 

The Poet's Throne 282 

The New Muse 283 

The First Plow Man 284 

Mv Ladv's Lilv- White Hand . 285 

The Way of the Gods 285 

A Snowv Morn 288 

Old Pink 290 

The Discovery of Steam 293 

The Night Hawks. . .• 295 

The Length of Life 303 

Modern Great Philanthropy .... 304 
Life's Three Greatest Necessities, 305 

This Mean Old World 306 

The Unexpressed 307 

The Old Candle Molds 308 

A Look Upon the Sly 311 

■Adversity " 312 

The Lost Footprints 313 

Where the Flag Waves Brightest. 313 

Fenelone 315 

Love's Affinities . . .- 315 

Gone Home 316 

Death's Garden 317 

A Little Grave 319 

Once Again the Frost is Cropping 319 

The First Snow-Fail 320 

When the Davs Come Again. . . . 321 

Her Birthday 321 

Memories' Meeting 322 

Generous Nature 323 

Oh! What so Sweet 324 

The Old Home Well 324 

The Sunset Realm 327 

The Awakening 327 

The Unseen Hand 328 

Near and Dear 330 

Idealitv 330 

If Every Fool Got His Due 331 

Aspiration 332 

Art and Heart 332 

Parting With the Old Piano 333 

Feathered Faith 338 

Love's Limit 339 

The End of Love's Dream 341 



l^UJS 1 Jl,i> JLft, 



PAGE 

The Despotism of the Dead 342 

Life Everlasting 343 

The Clerical Job 344 

Resistless Reason 34o 

Evolution 346 

The Eternity of Matter 347 

Kindness 348 

The Present Trend 349 

Mental Meekness 350 

The Greatest Trust 350 

The Man-Child 351 

A Room for Two 352 

Over the Dam 359 

The Last House on the Street. . . 360 

A Homely Sermon 365 

The Eternal Sway of Venus 370 

Sweet Heliotrope 371 

On Me the Burden 371 

Molly Lee 372 

The Universal Hypocrisy 373 

When the Sands in the (ilass of 

Time Grow Old 374 

Jeannie Sutherland 374 

Life's Start 375 

The River's Secret 376 

Jes' Like Him 378 

Divorce 379 

The Darkie's Heaven 380 

Low Tides 381 

Sweet Soul of Song 382 



PAGE 

Life 385 

White Slavery 386 

The Law of Life 386 

Hunting 386 

Poems on Europe and the Sea, 387-423 

Whence? Whither P 387 

The Cradle and Grave of All. ... 388 

Stratford Upon Avon 389 

Of All of the Human Vanities ... 391 

A Reverie of the Rhine 392 

The Mountain Iris 395 

Annie Castellini 395 

Verona 397 

The Dungeon of the Doge 400 

Farewell to Venice 404 

The Venus 406 

Ode to Italv 406 

Of All the Beautiful Cities 409 

The Grandeur That is Rome. . . . 410 

The Forum 412 

The Beautiful Cloud 416 

After Glow 417 

The Ship of Life 418 

Nothing on Them Doth Fade. . . 419 

The Isles of the Soul 421 

None Good 423 

Let Well Enough Alone 423 

Short Poems 424-447 

Couplets 448-452 

A Retrospect 453 



PRELUDE 

A DANGEROUS STEED 

That poetry is relatively bad or good, 
As the poet^s soul is understood; 
And tho^ mine may be given many a whack. 
Still I keep my seat on Pegasus^ back. 
And just as he please, let him run or rack. 

Or buck or cut shines or shy; 
And I just rhyme on, as he canters along. 
In commonplace story and old-time song. 

Still rhyme on, my heart and I; 
Brave, brave indeed the rider must be. 
For a dangerous steed to ride is he. 

But ride him he must who would rh3ane; 
Tho' scarcely he wingeth above the earth. 
Or soareth from sight, where the sun gives birth 

To thoughts eternal, sublime. 

Oh ! many the poets, who 've straddled this steed. 
Have been borne to their graves with lightning speed ; 
What matter if none e^er to me give meed? 

I '11 not be the first to die ; 

Ah! thickly the dead poets lie' — • 

In graves forgotten they lie. 
But this I hold of all verse to be true. 

The good, the indifferent, bad, 
The poet's soul through his verse must run. 
Like ripples kissed by the morning sun. 

And awaken the good and the glad. 
Eirst of all, he ever must be sincere ; 
Eaults and all alike in his verse appear, — 

Nature's child — be he good or bad ; 
On this snow-white steed he must fearlessly rise. 
And out of the purpled depths of the skies 
Bring back to the world some sweet surprise, 

And something to happiness add ; 

And something to prophecy add. 
Ah ! never a poet, howe'er humble he be. 
But lets some beauty and truth wing free. 

And something adds to the glad. 
7 



REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER 
VERSE 

BOB AND JE^ 

What voice is that without my door 
Keeps singing ever o'er and o'er, 

"Sweeter! Sweeter! Sweeter!" 
That springtime note I think I ken, 
^T is that of gallant Bobby Wren, 
Who 's come with Jenny back again, 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter I" 

There they are, and away they go, 
Singing the only song they know — 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !" 
They 're seeking wool with whicli to weave 
Their summer nest beneath my eave ; 
As sweet as lovers can conceive, 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !" 

Just make yourselves at home, my dears. 
And sweet we '11 live, free from all fears, 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !" 
Full well I know that you will be 
The choicest of good company, 
And e'er your songs will seem to me, 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !" 

Tho^ Jenny 's sweet and neat and prim. 
She 's never sweet enough for him ; 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !" 
Tho' Bob is constant, can not err. 
And sweet as she could well prefer. 
He 's never sweet enough for her ; 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !" 
9 



10 KEMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

But now a change comes in his voice^ 
Tor louder seems he to rejoice, 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !*' 
I "m sure I know his secret Avell, 
Four wee sweet chicks have picked their shell 
And he 's so proud, he 's wild to tell, 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !" 

Tho' care 's her lot, and hustle his. 
And less their singing, sweet it is ; 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !" 
And now the chicks to birds have grown. 
And out upon tJie world they 've flown. 
Bob sits and sings to Jen alone; 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !" 

I 've watched thee all the happy year, 
And learned the secret of thy cheer, — 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter !" 
'T is this : whatever care or strife 
May come to loving man and wife. 
Just make the melodies of life 

"Sweeter ! Sweeter ! Sweeter I" 



OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS 

As FOE the old-fashioned flowers we used to know. 

There are those held far above them ; 
But for sake of the old folks, we '11 let them grow, 

AVho used to tend them and love them ; 
And for their own sakes we '11 let them stand. 

And for poets dear who've sung them; 
For Alice and Phoebe, and all the bright band. 

Who wrote sweetest thoughts among them. 

Oh, the old-fashioned flowers ! How they seem to talk 
Of old-fashioned folks all about them ; 

How they picture mother in the garden-walk — 
Ah ! it would n't be home without them ; 



OLD-FASHIONED FOLKS H 

Still upward they look in the same old place. 

Where she fondly used to tend them; 
Eeflecting the smile in her dear old face, 

AVhen to me she used to send them. 

The ''honeysuckle" and "clematis'^ bright, 
■ Which over the doorways riotous run. 
The "morning glories," sweethearts of light. 

Whose blue-veined bosoms ope to the sun; 
All whose honeyed hearts the humming-bird' knows, 

"Verbenas," "bachelor buttons" and "phlox", 
''Sweet Williams", "butter and eggs" and "wild'rose". 

And the stately sentinel, "hollyhocks". 

Oh, oft have I wished that my road to heaven 

Might be hedged with those old-time flowers; 
And to me the privilege sweet were given 

To plant them in the Paradise bowers; 
And oft have I wondered if in the Beyond 

Of this earth they'll be a reminder; 
For naught ^1 be there of which mother 's so fond. 

And I '11 know where to look to find her 



OLD-FASHIONED FOLKS 
A SONG, a song for the old-fashioned times. 

And stories we Ve heard about them ; 
And old-fashioned folks, and old-fashioned rhvmes. 

Oh! what would life be without them? 
It's ever the fresh earth springs from the mold. 

The May-time follows November; 
And it 's ever the new succeeds the old. 

Leaving the old to remember. 

And as forward we press in life's swift race. 

Regardless of Time, so fleeting, 
We 're each of us taking some old folk's place,— 

The circle of life repeating; 
Each flow'ry present recedes to the past, 

Ev'ry time is, "A good old time ;" 
And old-fashioned we all become at last. 

To be praised in old-fashioned rhyme. ' 



12 EEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

TURN THE LINING 

If you have happiness to spare. 

Do n't hesitate to show it ; 
If you 've a way to lessen care. 

Let everybody know it; 
If silver inside lines your clouds, 

"When all the world 's repining, 
Do n't wrap yourself in somber slirouds, 

But outside turn the lining. 

For every stream of joy or mirth 

In sorrow's vale set flowing, 
"Will green and flower the barren earth, 

And make good hay for mowing ; 
And every ray of kindly light 

From darkness will deliver 
Some soul that gropes in gloomy night. 

And bless both soul and giver. 

So, let good nature gleam to-day. 

Like sunshine down the valley, 
And flowers will spring along your wa}^. 

And brooks sing as they sally ;. 
And every gentle word and deed 

Will make some burden lighter ; 
And hearts will glow that grieve and bleed, 

Wliile yours will glow the brighter. 



BELATED LOYE 

There never yet was love unmixed 

With sorrow and with pain; 
Thro' all our youth, a sweet torment 

And puzzle to the brain; 
A strange compound of joy and woe. 

Of mingled peace and strife; 
As oft a blessing, oft a curse, 
But like the measles, all the worse-. 

When coming late in life. 




THE OEXETEST BOY IX SCHOOL 

You stuck-iip city selioolboys, I 'm not writin' now for you, 
But rather for your bloomin^ dads, who in the country grew ; 
"Who the dee-strict school attended, wliere most were of one grade, 
And sexes of all sizes mixed, and studied, romped, and played; 
"Where few were good, but most were bad, and as a general rule. 
There was always one well-knowm to be ^The Ornriest Boy in 

SchooP; 
AVho headed every plot and joke, and trick both mean and rude. 
And generally in his classes at the very foot he stood. 
So I write for tliose wliose memories familiar scenes recall. 
For, more or less, the Ornery Boy reflects tlie life of all. 
And should your fatlier lam you for your boyish tricks or pelf. 
Just ask him for a statement of how lie did himself; 
For, wise as you may think you are, and very cute and sleek. 
You were never in it with your dad, for all he looks so meek. 
In a corner of the village, 'long what was called a street. 
But speakin' more correctly, where the country cross-roads meet, 
Tliere stood the public schoolhouse — the dee-strict's ancient pride, 
AYith swayback roof and checkered eaves, and bulgy at the side; 

13 



THE OKNKIEST BOY IN SCHOOL 15 

The weather-boards were full of holes, where there were boards 

at all ; 
The gable-ends mnd-sjootted, where the boys ^ould bounce the 

ball; 
The windows rattled in the storms, and some were lacking panes. 
And here and there a copy-sheet kept out the winds and rains ; 
Some bricks lay scattered on the roof, that topped the chimney 

high; 
The fences all around were wrecks, — so was the outhouse nigh; 
The mud was often ankle-deep around the carved-up door, 
Which had let in and out bad boys for fifty years or more. 

If the outside was inviting, the inside more was so, 
With seats accommodating six or more, all in a row ; 
Each carved with hiero-glyphics, to which Egypt's best are tame, 
And some of which, for decency, 't would be better not to name. 
The plaster here and there was off, in other places cracked, 
And in the southwest corner the winter wood was stacked ; 
The floor was warped and full of holes, and in the center swayed ; 
The ceiling stuck with paper-wads, thrown when the teacher 

prayed ; 
The undisturbed mud-dauber, thro' the summer long and still. 
Had built his earthy tenement around each mndow-sill ; 
AVhile old bumble in the casement concealed himself from sight. 
And before he could be ousted, put up a rattlin' fight; 
The stove had lost a leg or two, and underpiled with bricks. 
Its door was off the hinges, and the pipe was out of fix ; 
A hick'ry switch lay on the desk, and in the drawer a pack. 
Which were used for pointing lessons, when not upon the back; 
There were maps of every color, let up and down on rolls. 
With little on but countries, mountains, rivers, lines, and poles ; 
The globe was so disfigured, you could n't tell land from the sea ; 
And laths were showing here and there where plaster used to be ; 
There was such dilapidation from ceiling to the ground. 
As to lead to the suspicion of Ornery Boys around. 

Just which one was the ornriest was never put to voice, 
(In rotten apples, it is said, there 's very little choice) ; 
But 'twas generally conceded, the one most steeped in sin 
Was he who fought the most outside, and got licked the most 
within; 



16 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER YERSE 

And oftentimes it .happened that he was n't in the blame, 
And for things he wasn't guilty of he got licked just the same; 
I think I 'd recognize him if I 'd happen now to pass 
In front of any dresser that contains a lookin'-glass. 
The teacher had it in for me, if I loved him or defied. 
Or if I boldly spoke the truth, or just as boldly lied ; 
And often as he trounced me, I cut notches on my seat. 
Proud of a lickin' record 'at no other boy could beat ; 
And then was licked repeatedly for makin' such a botch. 
And with my one-blade Barlow I 'd cut another notch ; 
That Barlow was a valued friend, — it had the best o' stuff, 
Its point was never blunt nor dull, its edge was never rough; 
It won me pop-corn by the pocket-ful, at playin' mum-li-peg. 
And I proved its razor qualities, shavin' hairs upon my leg. 

To get even with the teacher, I climbed up in the loft. 

And daily soaked the plaster so 's to make it loose and soft; 

When a storm witliout came ragin' and shook tlie building hard. 

It slipped and fell upon his head, at least a whole square yard; 

The children bounded from their seats in evident alarm, 

And foT once he ne'er suspected, but blamed it on the storm. 

But some there was who better knew, and soon 't was whispered 

round. 
Some "Ornery Boy" had done that, if he only could be found ; 
To find him was n't difficult, and he got a fearful scotch, 
Which was faithfully recorded with another deep-cut notch; 
Defiant still and vengeful, on the morning of each day 
I placed some Cayenne pepper where the plaster fell away; 
The winds 'at whistled thro' the chinks 'ould gently sift it down. 
And 't was worth a dozen lickin's to see him sneeze and f ro\ATi ; 
He was always bavin' trouble, wliich the trustees thought was 

strange. 
And in the following autumn they decided on a change; 
For each and all concluded it 'oukl have a good effect 
To hire a maiden lady, who 'd command tlie boys' respect. 

AYhat with prayers and moralizin' slio started very well. 
And everything ran smoothly, till this incident befell: 
The Ornery Boy was often seen to duck beneath the seat, 
Helpin' himself, apparently, to somethin' good to eat; 



THE OKNKIEST EOY IX SCHOOL 17 

She seized him by the top-knot, and dragged him toward the 

stand, 
Then grabbed the juicy paw-paw he held loose in his hand; 
It weighed a pound, I reckon, if it weighed a single ounce. 
And the pulp squashed thro' her fingers, and splattered on her 

flounce; 
Then for raisin' dust from jackets the season opened wide. 
And the notches kept increasin' which long had been my pride ; 
I had a reputation which was very much at stake. 
For close behind me in the race was little Billy Drake, 
Who got licked for chewin' tobacco, and makin' quite a sluice, 
AVhen all that he was guilty of was squirtin' liqrish juice; 
And, being called to speak a piece that very afternoon, 
He recited "Little Eobert Eeed" in a sing-song, doleful tune. 
A half a dozen other lads ran clo^^e for second place. 
And others would have started, fearin' lickin's and disgrace. 



The Spring's the time for squirt-guns, an' spellin' schools at 

night, 
And we challenged Brush- Creek dees-trict to have a spellin' fight ; 
The sides lined up, and at the head, defiantly there stood. 
On our side, Becky Dickinson ; on their side, Helen Hood ; 
Armed each with a loaded squirt-gun, crawled Billy Drake and I 
Beneath the floor, a huntin' cracks, to let the water fly; 
And hardly had the spellin' match proceeded for a round, 
When Beck}^ Ann astonished all with both a yell and bound ; 
In the midst of the excitement, 'fore she'd any chance to tell, 
From Helen Hood proceeded nearly twice as loud a yell: 
'T was their very sad misfortunes to be standing over holes. 
Through which our elder squirt-guns sent shivers to their souls. 

The match broke up, and all ran out, determined to proceed 
Against the bold offenders who would dare do such a deed; 
Suspicion fell on many, but the teacher thought, perhaps, 
The parties likely most concerned were two absent ornery chaps ; 
Then the trustees called a meetin', resolved that they 'd expel 
The reprobates, as soon as found, and publish 'em as well ; 
And Deacon Smith arose and said, "I '11 jes be razzle-danged 
Ef them air boy's '11 come to good, an' it's likely they'll be 
hanged." 



18 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Our parents they defended us, and Billy Drake and I 
Maintained that '^e 'd establish a consistent al-er-bi. 
And Billy's mother, she declared : "My son was home that night, 
Eeadin' the Second Book o' James by a taller candle light;'' 
And certainly she spoke the truth, for she would n't tell a lie^ 
But just when Bill began to read she could n't specify. 
And old man Wilson, he got up, and plainly said, said he, 
"Ef that air boy o' mine is bad, he 's got lots o' company ; 
I '11 lick him ef he 's guilty o' this pertic'lar complaint. 
But his word 's as good as others until you prove it aint ; 
He went to- prayer-meetin', which he proves for his defense. 
An' you can't make out suspicion as convictin' evidence." 
But the trustees said, 'twas plainly an exception to the rule 
For these bright chaps were never known to miss a spellin' school ; 
"And strange on this pertic'lar night," they all said, then and 

there, 
"That Bill should take to Scripter, an' 'at Jack should take to 

prayer." 
So they came to no decision, as trustees seldom do. 
But every one was satisfied they 'd tried the guilty two ; 
And those girls' brothers after that were looking out for gore. 
And fights grew thicker at that school than was ever known 

before. 

A hundred odd remembrances I miglit perhaps recall. 
But 't would take a week, I reckon, to tell them, one and all ; 
What with placin' Cayenne pepper and gun-caps on tlie stove. 
And firin' notes at Puss O'Xeal, with whom I was in love ; 
And lettin' loose o' horseflies with a broom-straw in each tail. 
And puttin' little garter-snakes inside the drinkin' pail, 
Slippin' fishin'-worms and beetle bugs down the big girls' backs, 
And fixin' up the teacher's chair with unsuspectin' tacks. 
We kept the school a-hummin', and our parents sure 'ould say, 
On comin' home at nightfall — "Well, who got licked to-day ?" 

Billy is a preacher now in the church called Methodist, 
Shoutin' "Glory Hallelu-yer !" and poundin' with his fist. 
Sometimes I go to hear him, and it always gives me joy 
To note how mucli o' good may crop from out an ornery boy. 
And when he loud exhorts his flock, how sweet religion tames, 
I call to mind the night he read the Second ( ?) Book o^ James. 



THE OKNKIEST BOY IX SCHOOL 



19 



And when he comes to visit me he likes to pry around, 
Inspecting curious instruments that in doctor's shops are found; 
But the one that 's most attractive, and starts him laughin' loud, 
Looks somethin' like the squirt-guns o' which we once were 

proud ; 
And this recalls the old times, and in the merriest mood, 
^Ye talk o' Becky Dickinson and Sarah Helen Hood. 
And that day of our trial, when Deacon Smith be-danged, 
"Ef them air boys '11 come to good, an' it's likely they'll git 

hanged." 
An' how well the trustees knew us, when they all said then and 

there, 
"Strange 'at Bill should take to Scripter, and 'at Jack should 

take to prayer." 

But lickin's now are out o' style, and bloody fights as well, 

And city boys, when they grow old, '11 have nothin' rich to tell ; 

They 're tied down to a system and move like a machine, 

iVnd nothin' know o' pilin' hats, and rastlin' on the green ; 

Of skinnin' cats among the boughs o' the old playground tree, 

Chewin' slipp'ry elm and calamus when the teacher could n't see, 

Smokin' grape-vine stogies, an' penny-rial cigarettes. 

And turnin' from a spring-board double forward summer-sets; 

Of knucks and roly-holy, and the ball thrown from the hat. 

An' the game of run and soak, an' the old three-cornered cat ; 

Of shinny-on-your-own-side, and o' handy-over ball. 

And o' high-spy and pee-wee, the funniest trick of all : 

Of snap-the-whip and bull-pen, and o' rollin' balls of snow. 

And washin' big girls' faces, which they always liked, you know ; 

Of knockin' chips from shoulders, and o' darin' to a fight, 

xALnd goin' miles to spellin' schools upon a frosty night ; 

Of drinkin' from the bucket, made o' oak and iron-bound, 

And o' barrin' out the teacher when Christmas times come round. 



You city boys turn up j^our nose at home-spun country lads. 
But if you 'd see how they turn out, observe 3^our modest dads. 
Whose records at the country school were ornriest of all. 
And which accounts to-day, perhaps, for both their push and gall ; 
Say what 3^ou please about such lads, tliey stood pat in a pincli, 
And took tlieir lickin's bravely, and were never known to flincli. 
2 



20 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

The ornery boy 's not promisin', because he '11 fight and swear. 

But he has this peculiarity — ^you '11 find him everywhere ; 

He 's general in the army, and commander on the sea, 

As well as servin' time in jail, or hangin' to a tree; 

He 's found in banks and courts of law, and editorial chairs ; 

Of steel and oil and other stocks he holds the biggest shares: 

Some are busy clippin' coupons of three and fours and fives. 

And some are easy takin' life, insurin' people's lives ; 

And some are telegraphin' and some sendin' out express. 

And some are boomin' railway stock, by saltin' it, I guess ; 

Some at writin' poetry are puttin' in some licks. 

And some have strangely got to be the boss of politics; 

Some are planning buildings vast, to tower into the sky, 

And some are mining downward, where golden treasures lie; 

Some are gatherin' capital into a mighty trust. 

While some are doin' their level best the mighty scheme to bust; 

And some are racin' horses, some plowin' and clearin' heath; 

And some are jerkin' stoppers, and some are jerkin' teeth; 

And some are fillin' pulpits, like my friend, Billy Drake, 

And some prescribin' medicine 'at 's almost death to take ; 

And some are college mystics, entombed in the ancient past, 

AYhile some are turning heretic alarmingly and fast : 

And most that 's in our Congress, who make a stir and noise. 

In earl}^ life were known to be the ornriest country boys. 

Who, for mischief more than meanness, were reckoned bold and 

bad. 
And whose reputations suffered for the lickin's 'at they had; 
But at home, were kind to mother, and helped about the house, 
And whistled at their mornin' chores, and scampered with old 

Towse ; 
Fed the stock, and chopped the ice from out the frozen trough. 
While from its edge the calves 'ould crowd the thirsty chickens 

off; 
And horses whinnied from their stalls, their thirsty wants to tell. 
All eager for the glowin' draught he pumped up from the well ; 
Then visited the wood-pile, where the knotty problems ranged, 
As tough as "Partial Payments", or as "Foreign Bills Ex- 
changed", — 
Stacked high a pile upon the porch, while the last he had to do, 
AVas end over end a back-log, that 'ould burn a day or two ; 



PKOGKESS 21 

Thus, having finished all his work, as was his morning rule. 
He scrambled in his best jeans coat, and hustled o£E to school. 

Boot-top high the snow and driftin^, and keen the winter morn, 
As he took the field-path school ward, with pockets full o' corn, 
And dinner o^ cold sausage, and o' gingerbread and cake. 
And apple-butter on salt-risin', the best of mother^s make. 
And quince preserves and pickles, and two kinds or more o' pie, — 
While watchin^ out for cotton-tails, ^at might be liidin^ i^igl^? 
In each briar-patch and gully, and brush-heap near the wood. 
Where once the forest giant in verdant grandeur stood. 
'Cross the hill and down the valley, in scarfs o' red or blue, 
Came the boys and girls a-trudgin', each answerin' his halloo, 
And Puss O'Xeal among the rest, who made the fairest sight. 
With hood of red, and cloak of green, against the dazzlin' white ; 
While above the distant schoolhouse the blue smoke rose in air. 
Giving signal o' the welcome and the cheer awaitin' there. 

The city schools are grand, no doubt, the buildings big and high» 
But nature's schools are widest, -with her woods and fields and 

sky; 
With Autumn's golden glory, and the freshness o' the Spring, 
And the" voices o' the song-birds, which the Summers always 

bring. 
There's something in the country air, and something in the soil. 
That quickens patriot feeling in those who plant and toil ; 
Who close to nature cling and grow, and near her throbbing heart 
Learn best the love of countr}^ dear, because of it a part. 
Who, in the nation's perils, prove its mainstay and defense ; 
And it 's from the way-back schoolhouse we get our Presidents. 



PEOGRESS 



The shining car of progress 

Is speeding, flashing b}^. 
And axle-deep thro' star dust 

It clouds with gold the sky ; 
Those only it can follow 

Whose souls are fleet and free, 
Whose every milestone forward 

Is reached thro' agony. 



22 REMINISCENT EHYMES AND OTHEK YEKSE 



With bleeding feet^ behind it 

The few, untiring, plod. 
Knowing the stride of progress 

Is sure the stride of God; 
Along their stony pathway 

These high hearts sow the seeds 
That in the far years ripen 

To fruitful human needs. 

This forward, living movement 

Xow animates each heart: 
And e'en awakened woman 

Has made a shining start; 
Thus, all who would the worship 

Of the future ages earn. 
Must bravely dare be different. 

And as bravely dare to learn. 



THE AWAKENING OF SPEING 

A EOBiN trilled loud this early morn, 

"Spring is here!" "Spring is here!" 
The chill north-wind gave a dying wail. 
As the glad news spread thro' wood and vale. 
And 'twas whispered, "The primrose is born'" 

The hoar-frost turned to a tear ; 
And Winter, aged, gray, and forlorn. 
Himself shed an icy tear. 

The sun goes searching tlie violet's bed. 

To waken them from their sleep; 
Then gently the wild field-flowers unlock. 
To paint the soil and to fringe the rock. 
While shyly tlie crow-foot lifts its head 

'Twixt withered leaves for a peep ; 
And from forest bouglis, which seem as dead, 
The 3'oung buds begin to peep. 



THE CALL OF THE SPRING 23 

See ! Mature awakened is flusliint 



"O 



With a strangely conscious bliss; 
And purpling thro' peach and thro' red-bud^ 
The warm^ pulsing Earth sends her heart's flood. 
And Spring, like a young bride, is blushing 

With the wooing Sun's first kiss; 
And into the red she is rushing 

Like the thrill of Love's first kiss. 



THE CALL OF THE SPEING 

The cherry blossom is blushing — 

Spring's signal service scout. 
And the peach bud swift is rushing 

To beat the red-bud out; 
And old Winter's somber sadness. 
With a kind o' merry madness. 
Is changed to gleeful gladness, 

As trees their green leaves flout. 

The young grass blades are stirring, 

And alive seems every bush ; 
Bob White thro' the wood goes whirring, 

'Cross the glade the squirrels rush ; 
The grouse in the thicket is drumming, 
The wood-cock renews his thrumming, 
And all join hearts in the coming 

Of Spring with her cheeks aflush. 



The crows from the tree-tops clatter. 

As late emigrants arrive ; 
The jays from the dogwoods chatter. 

And for notice plainly strive ; 
The buttercups and the dafi^odils 
Smile up at the trees that skirt the hills. 
Which lean their boughs to list to the rills. 

That sing as they leap and dive. 



24 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER TERSE 

The primrose the hillside is specking, 

Where lately lingered the snow; 
And the dandelions are flecking, 

With their gold, the vale below ; 
The sun filters thro' the wildwood, 
Where oft in a dreamy mild-mood, 
I roamed in wondering childhood. 
Enraptured with its glow. 

Loud the myriad voices calling 

From the choral woodland deep. 
Where the o'erjoyed brook is brawling. 

And the cowslips slyly peep; 
Where the birds the buds are greeting. 
And violets blue skies meeting, 
Ah ! fast though life be fleeting. 
Still thro' my soul they sweep. 

They call me, robin and blue-bird 

And the red-bird from the trees, 
AAHiere budding branches are wind-stirred 

By the scented southern breeze; 
And ever the brook, it is calling 
Where it 's leaping, dashing, sprawling. 
And the woodman's muffled mauling, — 
The}^ call me — all of these. 



THE ONE THING SUEE 

Some say we will certainly live again, 

And others as wise, say not; 
But of tliis one thing we may all be sure, 
As along lifers road we recklessly tour, 

Contented or not with our lot, — 
AVhen at last we've reached the end of the race, 
And with the dim future stand face to face, 

Wondering, fearing, forlorn, 
With nature still we will be in touch. 
And certainly know every bit as much 

As we knew before we were born. 



PEACH BLOSSOMS 



PEACH BLOSSOMS 

'T AVAS when the bluebirds came nesting. 

Sweet Barbara. Dale and I 
Walked out among the peach blossom?, 

Under the clear, blue sky; 
The bee was there gathering honey, 

The first Spring sweet that he sips; 
And likewise I boldly plundered 

A kiss from her peach-bud lips. 

And when came the glowing summer, 

Sweet Barbara Dale and I 
AVent out to see if the peaches 

Were ripe for a cobbler pie: 
The bees still gathered their honey 

To store for their winter hives; 
And then and there to each other 

We promised to give our lives. 

And when came the golden Autumn, 

Sweet Barbara Dale and I 
Together sat peeling the peaches, 

Laying our winter store l)y ; 
And round the big copper kettle 

The bees buzzed 'mid the splutter; 
While she just looked like peach preserves. 

As I stirred slow the butter. 

When again came the glowing summer, 

Sweet Barbara Dale and I, 
AYith our arms twined round each other, 

Peep into a cradle nigh; 
The sound of honeybees humming 

Falls soft on the ears of each ; 
Says she, ^^He 's sweet as peach blossoms !" 

Says I, "He 's surely a peach !" 



26 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



A SUMMER DAY 

The roseate hand of morning 

Unbars the gates of light. 
And Orient beams are piercing 

The fast retreating night. 
And the loit'ring stars glow dimly, as slow awakes the da}^; 
Aurora's saffron banners 

Blend with the blushing sky, 
^^Hiile clond-built domes of silver 

O'er golden fanes rise high 
Above the lingering night-mists, which the sun-dawn melts away. 

Thus day with breathless passion. 

Kisses the night's tired eyes. 
And the sleeping earth awakens 

To hail the glad sunrise. 
And dedicate the glowing hours to loving thought and toil; 
The birds lift up their voices. 

The barn-fowls join their shout. 
The plow-men from their couches. 

Still half asleep, leap out. 
And hurriedly make ready to upturn the mellow soil. 

Whilst I, an idle visitor, 

Gaze round upon the farm. 
Tracing old, familiar landscapes. 

And noting each new charm 
Of distant hill and valley, and of far fields gTeen or bare; 
The dew-drops tipping the grass-blades. 

Hang thoughtless of their doom ; 
The lilacs flirt with the sunshine. 

The crab boughs laugh into bloom, 
AVliile the rifted breath of the clover sweetens all the air. 

The wild bees pilfer the roses. 

Which ne'er complain of their loss; 

The winds play 'round the locust trees. 
And their honeyed blossoms toss. 
And the elder in tlie hollow spreads wide its showy fleece; 



A SUMMER DAY 



27 



The heavy nddered, swaying kine 

Come to the milkmaids^ calls ; 
The mill-stream frets adown the glen. 
As o'er the rocks it brawls. 
And float upon its peaceful depths the noisy, gabbling geese. 



Thus leaps to life the summer da}^ 

Glad Nature's sweetest smile; 
With lunch and book I steal away, 

To muse with her the while. 
Where she coins her gold in buttercups adown the shady dell ; 
I roam where wheat-heads billow 

And ripen foT the sheaves; 
And where the sunbeams filter 

Thro' whispering forest leaves. 
And airs entrancing wrap me in the magic of their spell. 



The pungent breaths of the woodland 

My senses, charmed, control ; 
And the pipe of its sylvan spirit 

Enchants my raptured soul. 
As soft it blends with minstrel winds far up the leafy height; 
On flow'ry banks I listless lie. 

In shadows dark and cool, 
And watch the slanting sunbeams smite 

And pierce the placid pool, 
While myriad merry insects dance across tlieir columns bright. 



'T was here I wreathed the violets. 

In summers long ago, 
And twined them 'round a girlish head, 
And watched her dark eyes glow; 
'T was here that loving Xature first disclosed to me her heart ; 
Once more I mingle with her moods. 

Lie on her pulsing breast ; 
Once more escape the surging crowd, 
And know a perfect rest ; 
Once more I glide into a life devoid of sham and art. 



28 RKmNISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

The sun dips red behind the hills. 
And tints the clouds with gold ; 
The cows have gathered at the bars. 
The sheep draw nigh the fold. 
And the phantoms weird of twilight troop from the woodlands 
deep : 

I think of the far-off city, 

As I leave my friends — the trees, — 
Of how corrupt the hearts of men, 
How fresh and pure are these — 
How here, at last life wearied, I 'd sleep the eternal sleep. 



THE OLD FIELD SPRIXG 

Here it still bubbles below the green bank, 

'Xeath the old elm's wide-spreading shade; 
Here oft I would drink from its mossy brink. 

As flat on the curbing I laid. 
And looked in its waters so clear and cool. 

While its depths reflected the face 
Of the careless boy, overflowing with joy, 

E'er trouble had written a trace. _ 

Still above it the hawthorne and wild rose bloom, 

And down where its bright waters flow 
In a silver streak to- the crystal creek, 

Sweet-Williams and calamus grow; 
The flower-flecked grass is as green all 'round. 

And the chincapin over the way 
Throws its shadows cool down over tlie pool, 

And cows, in the heat of the day. 

Do you ask what brings me back to this spot? 

Why such love for it I still feel ? 
Ah! here we would meet, in tins cool retreat. 

To partake of our harvest meal; 
Here father and brothers and farm-hands ate 

From the basket's bountiful store, 
And its waters drank by this shady bank ; 

But ala? ! they are now no more. 



ADAMS COUNTY PAW-PAWS 

Here oft I would seek the sweet solitude, 

Here oft a shy maiden I 'd bring ; 
No deep-dripping well e'er had charm or spell. 

To me, like this old field spring; 
Once more I bend low for a sparkling draught — 

The purest since Nature began ; 
But the face I now see, reflecting me. 

Is the face of a world-wearied man. 



29 



ADAMS COUNTY PAAY-PAWS 

Walking down East Fourth Street, past the grocery of Mc- 
Combs, 

I stopped to rest a little — like an old man will, you know — 
xVnd circumspect Lis garden-truck of carrots, beans, and corn, 

And other things I used to raise in the very long ago. 
There were apples, plums, and peaches — of the very finest kinds, 

And grapes from California, and melons by the score, 
And pumpkins and pomegranates, and a crate of big paw-paws, 

Such as I had seldom seen for thirty years or more. 

"Pick out what you want, sir," said the quick, attentive lad ; 

"We've everything to please you, and so, too, will the price; 
Those are Adams County paw-paws I see you looking at, — 

That 's where the best ones come from and they 're ripe as they 
are nice." 
"From Adams County did you say? Why, that's where I was 
born; 

^Mong paw-paw patches everywhere as big as Lincoln Park ; 
So do n't try to pass those 'greeners' on me for 'nice and ripe'. 

For I can tell a green one from a ripe one in the dark." 

They're sent into the markets like country boys, you see. 

Who venture to the city to make their business start; 
And by and by they ripen, then pass no more for green. 

But look like other city folks, and are often just as smart; 
The city boy may be alert, and quick in business ways, — 

He may grow in fame or riches, at physic or the law. 
And wiser seem in many things than common country jays. 

Yet still be green as you are, sir, in choosing a paw-paw. 



30 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

.Wlien the inside turns to 3'ellow, the outside to the black, 

And an appetizing fragrance comes from the mellow meat. 
And the seeds skin out as easy as chestnuts in a frost, 

Then of all the fruits I know it '& the hardest one to beat. 
They may come from far Bermuda, or the isles of Carribee, 

Where the fig and pine and orange grow everywhere so thick; 
But it 's the only fruit that grows of which a tow-head country 
boy 

Can gulp down by the hat-full and never make him sick. 

So I took the whole collection, and wished for many more. 

And now they fill my office with their rich and rip'ning smell, 
Which takes me back to childhood, and the glorious autumn days. 

And the old associations which still I love so well ; 
For they 'mind me of a brother, who long since passed away, 

AVho joined me in my rambles and hunts for nuts and haws, 
And grapes and elder berries for mother's Sunday pies; 

But the very richest find to us was a load of big paw-paws. 

We 'd bring them home and place them in the bulging cabbage 
heads. 
Then from our ragged breeches pick the burrs and beggar lice ; 
And talk about the paw-paws — how they 'd ripen in a day. 
And how the frost would turn 'em black,' and make 'em cold 
as ice. 
Ah ! little did I dream, those days, of where I 'd be to-night, — • 
From a top-floor window looking down on roofs and bridges 
high,— 
See the lights that fleck the river, and line the distant hills. 
From which I turn in reverie to meditate and sigh, — 

For the days of ragged boyhood, and old-time country ways, 

And the royal-robed Octobers in their gold and purple glow; 
And the rambles with my brother, in the hazy afternoons. 

Through the woods of Adams County, where the finest paw- 
paws grow; 
To pluck again the wild fruits that grow thick on tree and vine, 

The hazel in the hollow, and the blue grapes and black haws, — 
Lug home a bushel basket, which with other things seemed filled. 

But half-way from the bottom up, with the biggest, black 
paw-paws. 



THE BOY WITH THE HOE 31 



THE BOY WITH THE HOE 

There 's a picture o' my bo3^1iood comes often to me now, — 

I see Dad trampin' 'cross the field, behind a shovel-plow ; 

He's jerkin' at the plow-line, hollerin', "Gee-haw, Nance!" an' 

"Whoa !" 
While Beech an' I trudge after, each scratchin' with a hoe. 

The crooked hills we straighten, an' bank the dirt all round, 
Then nip the grass an' sassafras that peek above the ground ; 
The corn-blades crack an' rustle — reach to meet the joinin' rows, 
An' the tallest stocks we measure with the handles of our hoes. 

"The crop is growin' fine", sez Dad, "an' it's comin' soon July; 
We '11 celebrate the glorious Fourth, if we git the corn laid by ; 
An' we '11 take a day at fishin', an' another for the show ; 
I '11 keep the plow a scratchin', an' you hump it with yer hoe." 

Thus thro' many youthful summers I hoed an' grubbed away, 
Chuck full o' big ambitions, to be realized some day; 
Such work, said I, is boy's work, to a bigger field I '11 go — 
A man is fit fer notliin' else wlio sticks right to a hoe. 

But I labored on, not knowing 'twas toil inspired my dreams. 
That I was getherin' treasures fer choice poetic themes ; 
Fair Nature smiled all 'round me, I cauglit her kindlin' glow, 
The Muses came an' found me hard toilin' with a hoe. 

The flowers smiled so kind at me, ez I passed 'em by the way. 
The wood-birds had a mind fer me when near their haunts I 'd 

stray ; 
x\n' evervwhere beamed beautv brio^ht — e'en the cornfield's lono- 

green row ; 
An' gee-mi-ny whizz ! the appetite, when I hustled with a hoe. 

Never yet wuz man degraded by his contact with the soil; 
Who most have made our country, in the earth began their toil ; 
In lands where liberty's unknown the peasant bends him low. 
But here our giTatest statesmen are graduates o' the hoe. 



32 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

An' from every State has risen a Cincinnatus from his plow ; 
A peasant born, wlio died at last with garlands on his brow; 
An' from every walk o' learning, an' station high an' low, 
Come brave an' brainy millions Avho 've labored with the hoe. 

So, no picture o' my boyhood more dear to memory's eye 
Than our hustlin' in the June-time to git the corn laid by ; 
I see old Xance an' Dad a-comin' 'way down between the rows, 
While lick-i-ty split are Beech an' I, humpin' it with our hoes. 



TALKI^^' DOG AND "HOSS" 

Aloxg about the Fall of year I always like to go 
'Way up in Adams County, where the finest paw-paws grow. 
And the black-haws and persimmons and winter grapes abound. 
And partridges and rabbits cover nearly half the ground; 
I like to join tlie village crowd at the corner grocery store, 
Where the younger set assemble with a dozen dogs or more, 
Or the crowd up at the postoffice, kept by Philip Ross, 
AVho discuss the graver subjects of politics and hoss. 

But no matter what the interest o'er questions of the State, 

When a farmer comes a-drivin' at a slow or rapid gait, 

Every eye is quick concentered upon his noble beast. 

And politics no longer are considered in the least ; 

Of height and weight and gait and speed, then wisely will they 

talk. 
Of trot and pace and gallop, and of easy running walk. 
And question all his finest points of neck and flank and hock. 
And whether he's a Morgan, or of Copper-Bottom stock. 

But when Easter Boy comes trotting by, the pride of all the place, 
Tlie horse that never yet has won, but almost wins the race, 
It 's then they deep philosophize on blood and pedigree, 
And why he never takes the prize they can not plainly see; 
So they daily pass opinion on each horse that comes to town. 
And on those within its precincts, from Easter Bo}^ on down; 
1 like to hear 'em talk o' "Hoss", but now and then 't will clog, 
And I go down to the corner, where they 're always talkin' ^^Dog". 



MEDIOCRITY 



33 



Of pointer and of setter^ and of spaniel, coach, and hound, 
And the very finest coon-dcg in all the country ^round; 
Of bull-pup and of terrier, and the age their ears to crop, — 
And dog that failed to catch the hare, for an untimely stop; 
Of Newfoundland and beagle, and the cross of fox and cur. 
And frisky Scotch and Mexican, distinguished for its fur, — 
I like to hear 'em talk of '^Dog^', but too much time's a loss, 
And I go back to the corner, where they're still a-talkin' "Hoss". 

Yes, I like to spend vacation at the place where I was born. 
When the leaves are turning golden, and the farmer's shockin' 

corn. 
And enjoy the relaxation of talk of common kind. 
And escape from ev'ry ailment that racks a doctor's mind ; 
I am tired out with talking of the thousand human ills. 
Commanding rest and caution, and dispensing pulv and pills, — 
Ev'ry business has its burdens of vain and foolish speech. 
Be it that of law or ph3"sic, or that of print and preach. 

And I'm tired out with flattery and hypocritic show. 

And the slander and the gossip only doctors come to know; 

Of being made the confidant of morbid-minded men. 

And of feminine hysterics, from one to often ten ; 

And think I 've earned the right to a short autumnal rest, 

'Way up in Adams County, the place I love the best ; 

And considering the million words which doctors charge to loss, 

I '11 be losin' nothin' killin' time, talkin' Dog and Hoss. 



MEDIOCRITY 

How BE it men are equal, when in varying degree. 
From dolt to genius, Nature shines in the same family ? 
Some makes she but to grovel, and others to plan and think. 
Some makes to rise to thoughts' bright skies, and others in dark- 
ness sink; 
Talk as we may, 'tis Nature's way, — botli peace shall be and 

strife. 
And most of men are only made for the common uses of life. 
Forever thus it hath always been, and forever still 'twill be. 
That the common state of human kind is mediocrity. 



34 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



THE SPEECH IX SCHOOL 

There lives no man in all the world, however old and gray, 
A\lio ne'er grows reminiscent o'er his childhood's varied day ; 
The old school life especially, with its quaint, pathetic themes. 
Its changing joys and sorrows and its many cherished dreams; 
And, strange to say, onr troubles most we musingly recall. 
And langh the very loudest at the greatest of them all. 

It mattered not how few they were, they all seemed hard to bear. 

But one there was among the lot that plunged us in despair; 

'T was not our many failures to carry off the prize, 

'Not in getting beat at figures by a boy of half our size; 

Nor committing definitions and the daily list of rules, 

Nor in being decked in headgear that illustrated fools, 

Nor conjugatin' "Love" and "Be" through every mode and tense, 

Till all the love of being had vanished from our sense; 

Nor being seated 'mong the girls, and given a bashful shock. 

And for the time becoming the whole school's laughing stock; 

Nor being teased about the one who 'd always take your part — 

AYho let you turn her down in class, and proved a real sweetheart ; 

Nor seeing your names upon the wall, together plain to view, 

One writ above the other, with a heart druwn 'round the two; 

Nor standing at the blackboard, knowing many a merry glance 

Was directed toward the patches that did n't match your pants. 

Or toward a glimpse of linen, which 'ould lead tlie girls to say, 

"There 's a letter in the postoffice for Johnny Jones to-day" ; 

Nor the weary repetition of morning prayers and tunes, — 

'T was the speeches that we had to make on Friday afternoons. 

I remember still the dread I felt thro' all the livelong week, 

Of the crushing doom awaiting me when called upon to speaJv; 

I scarcely slept the night before, but tossed in fev'risli heat. 

Devising many a truant plan the dreaded task to beat; 

I thought of feigning colic, or some otlier fierce attack. 

Or of tumbling from the hay-loft and crippling up my back; 

But all seemed unavailing, no matter how contrived. 

And my sinking spirit lowered as the fateful hour arrived; 

As one by one the names were called, I heard not what was said, 

Pre-occupied with keeping straight my own speech in my head; 



THE SPEECH IN SCHOOL 



35 



And when I tliought I had it all most perfectly in shape. 
Each word and line seemed struggling to make a quick escape. 

At last my name was spoken : it came like a thunder-clap 

To reapers who have stretched themselves for a quiet noontide 

nap; 
Each boy in front turned half around to see me make my start. 
And those behind me gave a nudge, while the blood froze in my 

heart; 
I clutched the desk, and slowly rose and started down the aisle. 
Inclined to break thro' the open door and run at least a mile; 
An awful silence seemed to reign — a sickly, death-like pall — 
And my red-top stogies sounded just like a woodman's maul ; 
As I turned me toward the platform, I tripped and almost fell. 
On a foot shoved out before me for a pur]3ose known full well; 
A titter ran throughout the room, and a snort or two aloud, 
Escaped from boys who'd said their piece, and so were feeling 

proud. 

With tightened fist and savage glare I quick regained my feet. 
And formulated instant plans for vengeance swift and sweet; 
But as that was not the time nor place, I mounted up the steps. 
While a swelling rose up in my throat from far internal depths ; 
I could hear my heart a-thumpin', and my tongue grew strangely 

dry. 
And were it not for appearances, I felt that I should cry ; 
But I braced myself with all my might to keep the tremble down. 
And to better hide a fainting heart, assumed a tragic frown, 
And — "Sink or swim" — I slow began, then pausing not for 

breath, 
AVith reckless speed rushed blindly on to — "Liberty or death !" 

All flushed and dazed, I started back, forgetting first to bow, 
(The relief I felt in getting through, comes o'er me even now,) 
And as I lumbered down the aisle at an eager home-stretch scoot, 
I punched the noggin of the boy who tripped me with his boot ; 
And when I 'd safely reached my seat and dared to look around, 
'T was then my vanquished heart received its very deepest wound : 
For ev'ry face smirked with a grin, which I could n't help but 

heed. 
And the teacher had the cheek to say^ " 'T was very good indeed !" 
3 



36 l^EMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

I close my eyes in reverie— the time, the place, the scene 
Come trooping up the twilight paths of Mem'ry sad and keen; 
I see the little school-honse on the slope ahove the creek, 
'Way np in Adams County, where I ventured first to 'speak ; 
When the hated task wrung from me the sigh, the tear, the moan, 
When I thought no living being had troubles like my own : 
I 'd be slow to own such weakness, if I did n't know to-day, 
A thousand million other boys have felt the selfsame way. 



NATURE'S NUPTIALS 
EuDE Nature, like a savage Ingomar, 
Instinctively with brightest Beauty mates. 
Through all creation, majesty and might 
Blend soft with fragile grace. Had'st thou the eye 
To see, more oft before each ponderous force. 
Thou 'd stop to marvel at grim Nature's charms. 
And her fine and delicate works admire. 
E'en where she most is monstrous and uncouth. 
Severe, stupendous, frightful in her mien. 
There Beauty glows in countless lovely forms. 

Erom the blackest soil pure hyacinths spring, 
And from the woodland mold, fair asphodels; 
'Mid desert sands the cactus blooms, and 'gainst 
The pale, cold cheeks of the highest Alps clings 
The strange, sweet, loving eidelweiss. The same 
Monstrous hand that steers the wheeling planets 
Thro' farthest space, and gives the suns their light ; 
That wakes the thunder and propels the storm; 
That rends the rocks and wrinkles earth's stern crust ; 
That sinks great islands into darksome depths. 
Or lifts the submerged peaks to starry heights, — 
Tints soft the deep-sea shell ; tips bright with fire 
The butterfly's wing ; lusters the dove's neck ; 
Imprisms the snow-drop; rainbows the cataract. 
And paints with mystic touch tliat glow divine — 
The blush of love in modest maiden's cheeks. 
Thus Beauty bright becomes the blushing bride 
Of monstrous Nature, ponderous and rude, 
To make inhabitable this rock-faced world. 
And consummate their union all in man. 











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THE OLD ^YASII TAN 

Father and the farm-hands and m^Tclf and brother Beech, 
Have jiut come in for dinner, summoned by the screech 
From the old tin horn, whose music grows sweeter evermore, 
And Avc gather round the cistern pump, near the kitchen door, 
To bathe our sunburned faces, and necks bhack with the tan. 
And each one take a social dip from the old wash-pan. 

Upon a board nailed to a stake, set deep into the ground, 

There it sits inviting us, big and bright and round; 

Iiust-eaten at the bottom, with here and there a leak, 

Which mother stops with muslin strings a dozen times a week; 

I lift it from its pedestal and hold it 'neath the spout. 

And soon the soft rainwater comes dashing, splashing out. 

Then, brimming full, return it to its old accustomed place, 
AVhile each insists the other "go first'^ to wash his face; 

37 



EE FIRST IN SO:Mi:TniNG 



39 



Uncultured tlio' we may appear, and roughened Avith our toil. 
Yet flowers of gentlest courtesy may spring from country soil; 
And ne'er was social justice, nor the democratic plan. 
More fittingly exemplified than round the old wash-pan. 

And if in our politeness we can not just agree. 

The two the nearest dip right in, and very often three; 

And then we seize a towel, and our heads together bend. 

And wipe our dripping faces, each from the other end ; 

But I 'm speaking of the present, and now must let you know. 

These quaint old farmer customs were experienced long ago. 

For back to the old homestead, an aged man, I 've strayed, 
And stand beside the cistern pump, beneath the apple shade, 
Musing all alone — bereft — sweet memories counting o'er. 
Dear mother, with the towels, smiling sweetly in the door. 
And the jolly set of harvesters, with faces red and tan, 
All jokin' and makin' merry 'round the old wash-pan. 

I 've bathed in lavatories of the latest modern style, 

AVith walls of solid mirror, and with floors of marble tile ; 

But the water from this cistern is a luxury more dear. 

For my old farm companions seem to gather 'round me hero; 

Father and my brother Beech, and Bob and Dick and Dan, — 

I think I see their faces in — the old wash-pan. 



BE FIRST m SOMETHING 

The world measures men by generals. 

And not by privates judge; 
By the men who stand for something. 

And ne'er retreat nor budge; 
If you half defy men's ideas. 

They despise you for your fear ; 
If the whole of them you challenge. 

They respect you, being sincere ; 
Then do n't be a half-way follower. 

To come at a puppet's call ; 
Be first, for God's sake, in something, 

Or just do n't be at all. 



40 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



THE PASSING STORM 

A SHADE of darkness falls across the noon ; 

Low skirting the Western sky one long cloud 

Eises, grim and threatening; swift its approach, 

And as it nearer comes, on either side. 

Huge thunder-heads muster their monstrous shapes, 

And flash their fiery signals of the storm. 

Hot and oppressive grows the atmosphere. 

And falls a hush as of impending doom. 

Each human being, insect, bird, and beast. 

Alike instinctive, seeks some safe retreat. 

Things light and loose are carried high in air. 

And sway the distant shade trees to the ground. 

Across the lot the sportive whirlwinds scout. 

Or down the pike lift high the dusty clouds. 

For once the firm-built house trembles and rocks. 

And fiercely claps each unlocked blind and door. 

Anon, the murky fleeced squadrons gather fast 

In their elemental fury. Loud and weird 

The artilleries of heaven peal and crash. 

And rumble and mutter into silence. 

The distant w^oodlands roar ; the fierce winds howl ; 

The heavy fruited limb splits from its trunk. 

And all the air is filled with cracking sound. 

A gloom, ominous, deep as rayless night, 

Shuts out the glare of day. The mighty Jove, 

Leader of the hosts, hurls his lurid bolts 

Deep into the quivering heart of earth. 

The wrathful sky and groaning globe mingle 

Their shrill, discordant voices. Appalling 

Is the hoarse commotion, which now subdues 

To helpless fear each proud, defiant mind. 

O'er licad, all round, and onward sweeps the storm. 
Fiercely the heavy-burdened clouds discharge 
Their vap'ry freights of mingled rain and hail ; 
The brooks leap to torrents ; flood-gate and bridge 
Are swept away. E'en more portentous howls 



THE PASSING STOKM 41 

The hurricane ; louder peals the thunder ; 

Fiercer shrieks and hisses the frenzied blast; 

Closer glitters the lightning's deadl}^ flash, 

And still more dire the deepening darkness. 

As if grim Erebus had joined with Jove 

In deadly conflict with the God of Day. 

Eastward it sweeps, like a conqueror bold. 

On death, destruction, and blind fury bent. 

Bombarding Earth with mighty thunder-bursts. 

And hurling its liquid avalanche 'gainst 

The drenched and battered plain. The heavy wheat 

And corn are flattened to the ground. Trees, weak 

With age, are twisted from tlieir splintered stumps ; 

And here and there, uprooted, prostrate lies 

The forest monarch proud. Dismantled roofs. 

And orchards rent and bent, and flooded vales. 

And fence-swept fields, and littered woods, mark plain 

Its devastating path. 

Swiftly it came, 
And as swiftly it disappears. Anon, 
The impetuous winds grow faint and weak. 
As out of breath. Slowly the frenzied gusts 
Subside to fitful, but kindty, downpours; 
High floating in the brightening AYestern sky 
Lag the spent remnants of the dying blast, 
While thro' their rifts the searching sunbeams stream. 
Peacefully and golden. The rainbow, bright 
Pledge of peace, smiling daughter of the storm. 
Full spans the frowning arch, as if to bar 
Each angry cloud's return. The danger past. 
Suspended animation quickly leaps 
To pulsing life. Each beast and barnyard fowl. 
As safe they venture from their dry retreats. 
Expression give to their numbed, w^ond'ring thoughts ; 
The frightened children to the yard steal out 
To gather fast the still unmelted hail. 
Or wade and paddle in the many pools ; 
While anxious neighbors to each other call. 
Or meet to note the ruin of the gale. 



42 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Tims passed the storm. Of momentary power. 
Loud, blustering, wavering in its course, 
Of blinded passion and of hate composed, 
Like brutal nations, drunken with their might. 
Still high o'er all glowed bright the King of Bay, 
Full-orbed, unmoved, unshaken in his path, 
Steadfast, inflexible, true to his course. 
Investing earth and sky and all therein 
AVith the gleaming track of his fiery car. 
The day wanes. Still, full-orbed and larger grown. 
The great Sun, victor o'er each bolt and blast. 
In royal raiment robed, goes to his rest. 
Kight, with unspeakable enchantment, falls 
Like a blessing o'er all the drowsy world ; 
Alone, above the crimson horizon. 
Beams bright Love's harbinger, the ev'ning star ; 
Soon millions of like brilliant spheres light up 
Tlie ancient arch, and from their high star-dome. 
Faithful vigil keep, far into the dawn 
Of a glorious, new-born summer day. 

Thus, let thy life, tho' dark and tempest crossed. 
Break, like the sun, full-orbed thro' ^v'ry storm ; 
And so, from heights sublime thou may'st look down 
On all the rage and petty strifes of men. 
Like him, untrammeled, fearless, free thy brain, 
Heed not each bigot's frown, nor despot's growl. 
Which would obscure thy light or check thy way ; 
But e'er with firm resolve, unswerving, true. 
The powers that misdirect and blind, defy. 
Thus clothed with perfect rectitude of soul, 
Ne'er compromising, tolerant toward all, 
Serene, guiltless of having swelled the tide 
Of superstition, human woe, and wrong, 
Push steadfast on thro' storms of myth and dou])t. 
Along a star-lit highway of thine own. 

So live, and thou wilt shine with steady ray 
Deep into tempestuous souls of men. 
Embroiled in wars of greed and blind belief. 
And so direct them into peaceful paths. 



THE MUSIC OF KATUEE 43 

So live to warm unfeeling hearts and make 
Them glow with justice, kindness, truth, and love; 
With brave, virtuous deeds, and mirth and song; 
Thus, like the sun, wilt thou expand and grow. 
As down the dark'ning slopes of tranquil eve 
And thro' the star-gemmed folds of purple night, 
Serene, composed, thou pass to gentle rest. 
In sylvan shades of green Elysian fields ; 
Still larger seem, when rising from thy sleep. 
As one refreshed, renewed, yet still unchanged, 
Thou pass the portals of the crystal dawn 
To glories of a new-born, blessed day. 



THE MUSIC OF XATUEE 

What power celestial first set thee free 

Thou angel messenger, sweet Melody ! 

Thou soul of emotion and pure delight, 

That leads us clear up to tlie Infinite; 

The harp which, touched by the sensitive breeze. 

Awakens the earliest of harmonies; 

That expels our cares, and our senses charms. 

And the turbulent griefs of life disarms ; 

That cheers the sailor when the waves roll high. 

And strengthens the soldier to fight and die; 

That round our cradles its lullabies pour 

In sweet mother-songs of days of yore, — 

Gives solace for which the sad heart craves. 

And breaks into pathos over our graves. 

But Melody ne'er is so sweet and clear 

As when Nature's soft airs fall on tlie ear; 

The night winds that whisper and moan and sigh. 

Or jubilant swell in the branches high. 

Or around the eaves make a merry stir. 

And harp thro' the boughs of the neighb'ring fir ; 

Or the rival anthems of leafy choirs. 

When the sun first smites the wood with its fires; 

The murmur of brook and splash of fountain. 

The roar of pines, and echo of mountain. 



44 REMINISCENT EHYMES AND OTUEK VERSE 

And the myriad voices heard everywhere, 
Trembling along the tuned pulses of air. 
Borne upon breezes from far heaven sent. 
Each vibrant with rapturous ravishment. 

To the soul imbued with sense of sweet sound. 
The choicest symphonies compass him round; 
Tho^ he stray by field, or wander by wood. 
Or sit by firelight in musical mood. 
He hears the faint flutter of tiniest wings. 
And the chirp and whisper of unknown things: 
The insect creation which sport in the light, 
And those which take wing to revel by night. 
Whose faint, fairy voices, commingling, seem 
Enchanting strains of a mid-summer's dream; 
He hears the swift saps as they upward flow. 
And the crick the grasses make as they grow; 
The dancing and prancing of elfin feet 
On moon zephyrs laden with odors sweet; 
The lyric woodland's myterious rune. 
That floats through the dingles of sylvan June; 
Or crimson October's low threnody. 
Thro' withered woods, and o'er stubbled lea; 
Or adown the long aisles where stand forlorn 
The tall tented ranks of the tattered corn; 
November's sad sighs as they sway and nod 
The russeting plumes of the golden-rod; 
The crackle of fire and the chimney's roar. 
As wild winter winds moan without the door; 
The dash and splash of the drops of rain. 
At night on the roof and the window pane, 
That drip from the eaves and blend in their glee 
Like a baby's coo with a lullaby. 

Each human emotion, each sense profound. 
May find expression in melodious sound ; 
Be it anguish or joy, or love o'erthrown. 
Its sense is reflected in accent and tone. 
Gladness is felt in the morning bird's song. 
And purl of the brook as it speeds along; 



THE MUSIC OF NATUKE 

Sorrow in the desolate night-wind^s sigh. 
That, muttering, swells to a mournful cry; 
Grief and despair in the sea^s sad dirge. 
Borne from the depths on the bounding surge; 
Anger in the shriek of the mid-night blast. 
Which heralds the storm-cloud approaching fast; 
Fear in the thunder's tumultuous peal, 
And the flash and crash which our senses reel. 
Triumph and might in the eagle's shrill scream. 
Which startles the flock from its drowsy dream; 
Peace in the home-coming chatter of birds. 
And in the low bleat of the sauntering herds; 
Old-time memories in the patter of rain. 
Which awaken sweet longings for childhood again; 
Pity in the ebb and flow of the tide. 
Truth in the heart-songs around the fireside ; 
Hope in the robin's trill, heralding Spring, 
And the voice of flocks North-bound on the wing ; 
Love when wooing winds in rose bosoms sigh, 
Paith in the lark's song when rising on high. 
And mystic murmurs of an unknown shore 
In the solemn music of ocean's roar. 

Ah ! these are the memories that glow and thrill. 
Which Melody summons at touch or will; 
Of youth and solitude and spring-time born. 
And garnered at eve or at dewy morn; 
Or when the warm airs of wide-awake noon 
Vibrate with medleys of passionate tune. 
Once more the entrancing cadences leap 
When we open the cells where memories sleep. 
And backward we wander mid old June days, 
And list to their rapturous roun-de-lays ; 
The clamor of birds in their morning flight. 
Their hushed undertone on returning at night; 
The far-away caw of the thieving crow ; 
The laughter of brooks, as they rippling flow; 
The merry, mad moods of the wanton breeze. 
Teasing the blossoms and fretting the trees; 
The locust enlivening the still noon hour; 
The roar of the woods, preceding the shower; 



45 



46 EEMI.NISCENT EHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

The gay, gleeful gush that heralds the rain. 

And rollicking thundei^s distant refrain; 

The constant flutter of the aspen's leaves, 

The twitter of swallows around the eaves. 

The pipe of the wild goose, high in the air ; 

Bob White proclaiming his fatherly care ; 

The call of the cuckoo, the hum of the bee. 

The red bird whistling from the orchard tree. 

The stock-dove crooning in the meadow nigh. 

The skvlark dashing its soul from the sky, 

The cat bird and jay round the house about, 

Commingling their shrieks with bojdiood's wild shout, 

And the multituJinous medley of notes. 

Pouring from myriad mellifluous throats, — 

Ah ! these are the strains that live in the heart 

Long after those of the composer's art ; 

The music that never grows old nor dies. 

Except with the closing of lover's eyes. 



ALL m A DROP OF WATER 

Two ANIMALCULES fell out and fought, 
'Cause one did n't think as the other thouglit, 

Eought they in a drop of water; 

In a drop of clear, bright water. 
A million of others looked curiously on. 
As the fighters desperately fought alone 

In that sparkling drop of water; 
Soon a few took sides, each thinking him right, 
And without knowing wh}^, got mixed in the figlit, 
Then, "fighting mad" all got — oh, what a sight ! 

All this in a drop of Winter; 
And it all turned out, when the fight was o'er. 
That each still thought as he thought before, 
('Cept those so dead that they thought no more) 

For great — oh, great was the slaughter. 

In that drop of dark red water ; 
All o' which goes to show, in spite of our schools, 
That men may be fools — well as animalcules — 

And fight, when they had n't oughter. 



BOB WHITE 



BOB WHITE 



The city^s heat grows stifling: 

In feverish dreams I stray, 
Eecalling far-off June times, — 
The locust shade at noon-times. 
And sportive breezes trifling 

With blossoms in their play ; 
And bees the honey rifling, 

Erom blossoms all the day. 

Once more I lie and listen 

To Nature's music sweet; 
Once more my old companions 

Of woods and fields I meet ; 
And 'mong the voices calling, 

The clearest note of all, 
And warmest in its welcome, 

Comes from a fence-stake tall. 

And "Bob ! Bob White V 's his greeting. 

As in the olden time. 
When I turned the stubble over. 
When I raked the hay and clover. 
In the summers all too fleeting, — 

In summer's flow'ry prime; 
While his song he kept repeating, 

Which now inspires my rhyme. 

Which oft aroused the brute inbred. 

And with a sportsman's glow, 
I 'd sight the handle of my rake. 
And vicious aim upon him take. 
And wish it were a gun instead. 

To fire and lay him low; 
Just to lift the feathers from his head, 
My sportive skill to show. 

Ah ! the thought of willful murder 
Brands with shame my fevered brow; 

I would pay you well, dear Robert, 
Could I hear your music now; 



48 KEMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER YEKSE 

Your love-call to your list'ning mate. 
Brooding in her secret nest, 

Would echo loud the fond heart-throbs 
For the one I love the best ; 

And bring again those summer days. 

And youth's all golden hours, 
When boy and girl we sought your haunts. 

Together plucking flowers ; 
And tip-toe on an ancient stump. 

In the tall wheat hid from view. 
You loudly called, ''Bob ^Tkite !" to us. 

Which I whistled back to you. 

Ah ! my heart is sick with longing,— 

Vainly longing for your tune ; 
Tor the varied scenes of childhood, 
For the meadow, dale, and wildwood. 
And the thousand charms belonging 

To the month of merry June; 
Ah ! the memories that come thronging 
AVith thoughts of youth's bright June. 



THE MINORITY 

In the name of might brute power stands 

With numbers bold sways he; 
But one upon the side of right 

Is in the majority. 
The ultimate conclusive thought 

Springs not from creed or throne; 
The strongest man on earth may be 

The man who stands alone. 

'T is thus the geniuses of men 

Have grandly, singly stood 
For right and justice, knowledge, truth. 

And human brotherhood ; 
Tho' oft the dungeon was their fate. 

And oft the rack and flames. 
The savage world, redeemed by them. 

Now glorifies their names. 



HOW DID IT HAPPEN? 49 



THOUGHT ADRIFT 

The blossom knowetli not where its perfumes 

May reach when it sends them astray ; 
Nor man what becometh his wand'ring thoughts. 

As they pass beyond him each day ; 
So thought, like the blossom, should gladden the souls. 

Of all that may come in its way — 

In its wild and wandering way. 
Oh ! a perilous journey each thought doth take 

In its mission of good or ill : 
Then more heedful be of its purity, 

That no w^eak m^ind it may fill ; 
E'er let it bear truth to all that it meets. 
As bears the June rose its choicest of sweets 

On winds that wander at will — 

That wildly wander at will. 
For no matter its mission, or what its plea. 
Thought's first essential is ever to be 
Free, free, ever joyous and free. 
Truth's bright messenger ever to be; 
Then let them go winging from you and from me. 

E'en as rose souls adrift on a sunny day, 

Glad'ning all hearts that come in their way. 



HOW DID IT HAPPEN? 

Oh ! how did it happen, sweetheart of mine. 
That we two should chance to have wed ? 
That each toward the other should loving incline. 

And not, toward another instead ? 
What mysterious power designedly stole 
Into the sacred shrine of each secret soul. 

And together them gently led ? 
What spirit first taught your heart to indite 
Its sweet confession on your cheek so white. 
In its tell-tale language of red? 
Of all reds, the most delicate red. 
The heart's richest and rosiest red : 



50 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

As soft as the dawn wakens bird and bee, 



Or star pauses in a deep well, 
Or moonbeams sink in a mystical sea. 

In love we unconsciously fell; 

Like a star in a deep, still well ; 
Or moon in a mystical sea.. 
In a dream-w^rapt islanded sea. 
In a cavern-enchanted sea; 

Each enchanted w^ith love's sweet spell; 

With its languorous, sensuous, spell; 

With its strange, unexplainable spell. 
Ah ! how did it happen, sw^eetheart, that we 
Should love one another so utterlv? 



THE SECRET TAm 

This man may be homeless and ragged. 

And this one sleek, jolly, and fat. 
But we never know one half of the woe 

Each alike carries under his hat; 
All the secret vexations and sorrows. 

Disappointments that daily rile. 
That harass and grind both body and mind. 

And are hidden beliind a smile. 

Could we read each secret Iieart history. 

E'en of those who would do us harm. 
Of trials impending, which seem never ending. 

Sweet pity our hates would disarm. 
Could we always remember how narrow 

Was our own escape from shame. 
More kindly we 'd speak of tlie criminal weak,- 

The harlot less would we blame. 

Ah ! the many sad lives that are burdened 

With other's sliames — not tlieir own ; 
That cruelly cling, and hound and sting. 

Causing daily the secret groan; 
Oh ! so much of suffering in silence, 

Alike 'mong the lean and the fat. 
We can never tell one half of the hel] 

Raging under another's hat. 



DAXGEKOUS EXTKE:MES 



UNTEAMMELED 



51 



As FAST or slow you journey to your final end, the gi'ave. 
Be brave enough to be true, and true enough to be brave ; 
Alone, among the gi'ovelling, stand firm for a just cause, 
Tho' corrupt opinion face you, and threat of vicious laws. 
In one brave soul may center all the powers of might and right, 
And save as brave souls suffer, the truth ne'er comes to light. 
Something worthy then of prison, if need be, say or dare; 
Have the courage of conviction, and freely it declare; 
With thought and speech untrammeled, blaze forth a shining way, 
For the blind, despairing masses, that struggle toward the day ; 
Let rage the king and autocrat, the powers of greed and creed. 
Which, from the helpless multitude, their thought and substance 

bleed ; 
Without the rage of the tempest, the oak will ne'er grow strong, 
Nor right be e'er triumphant, without the rage of the wrong ; 
For justice be a wall of stone, for truth as firmly stand ; 
AYith defiance deal forgiveness, from an open, velvet hand ; 
E'er seek to lift the lowly to your level from the mire. 
And let love o'er human weakness, glow like a mountain fire ; 
Thus free and ever guiltless of swelling the rushing tide, 
Of ignorance and bigotry, and of misery beside. 
Give royally to all mankind the strength of heart and brain, 
And the truth as you may see it, let billow thro' every vein ; 
And when finally is written the last chapter of your life. 
Let love and truth and progress, still ascendant be o'er strife ; 
And as swift the downward journey leads to the silent grave, 
Still be brave enough to be true, and true enough to be brave ; 
With the luster of intregrity bright beaming from your eye. 
The last fierce rage of destiny, untrammeled, still defy. 

Then if to the mystic future, a solution sweet there be. 
If a compensation's waiting, you '11 deserve it, who was free, 
x\nd freedom gained for others ; such wholesome lives as these. 
Have earned the bliss awaiting in the bright eternities. 



BAXGEEOUS EXTEEMES 

There ne'er was a danger to human good 
So great as excessive servitude; 
Unless, perchance it may possibly be 
The excesses of power and liberty. 



52 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



THE CEANK 

Useless and worthless a big grind-stone 

Lay bnried deep in tlie ground, 
Till taken out and a crank attached. 

Which sent it spinning aronnd; 
Then on it the farmer sharpened his tools, 

Snre, it had a splendid grit; 
And the neighbors came to do the same. 

As soon as they heard of it. 

And loud were the praises of its worth 

By every Rube and Joe; 
But never a word for the tireless crank 

That made the grind-stone go : 
'Cept now and then when it creaked a bit. 

And a wedge or a screw got loose, 
They'd give it a rap, and a damn perhap. 

And on it vent their abuse. 



Likewise the useless and senseless horde, 

The cumberers of the ground, 
Who 're hardly aware that they 're alive. 

Till some one spins 'em around, 
Then fierce on their benefactor turn. 

Their faces with hate aglow. 
And call him a crank, and rap his shank 

For starting them on the go. 

'T will never do for the man of brains 

The dreamer, iconoclast, 
The inventor, poet, or scientist 

To travel ahead too fast; 
For every Eeginald, Cholly, and Maud 

And reverend mountebank. 
And social snob and political slob 

At once raise the howl of — "Crank." 

Distinguished in nothing are many fine folks. 
But for title, wealth, and style, 

Who, cast in the rubbish heap of life, 
AVould contaminate the pile; 



THE ROAD TO PARADISE 

Who fritter away thought^s brief, bright day, 
Puifed with lineage, pride, and rank. 

While the ages raise immortal praise 
To some poor and humble crank. 

Oh, ho ! Oh, ho ! for this funny world ! 

For the countless minds obtuse, 
Wlio imagine the screws in other brains. 

Instead of their own are loose ; 
Who, motionless, like the senseless stone. 

Lie buried in darkness dank. 
Till raised from below, and made to go. 

By a crazy fool of a crank. 

To be reviled and misunderstood. 

Is the penalty he must pay, 
AVho, in sacrificing for human good. 

Do n't think just the bigot's way ; 
Who keeps his poise mid the hates and sneers. 

Of minds that are warped or blank. 
And pushes on, unhonored, alone. 

And dies as he lived — a crank. 



53 



THE ROAD TO PARADISE 

Oh ! have you seen the shining road 

That leads to Paradise? 
Which, far ^'beyond the bounds of space. 

And time," remotely lies? 
A thousand views men of it claim, 

A thousand paths point out; 
Each thinking his the certain way. 

Yet each disturbed with doubt. 

Some things we know, and know we know. 

But most things we assume ; 
Oft thinking we behold a light. 

Where naught exists but gloom ; 
And views most firmly we uphold, 

Because of brand of college. 
Which altogether lie beyond 

The bounds of human knowledge. 



54 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHEK VERSE 

The mere belief of any man, 

However lionest, free. 
Can never be of proven truth 

A certain gnarant}^; 
The most incredible of vicAvs, 

From nature strange, we borrow. 
And those which we accept to-day, 

AVe may reject to-morrow. 

Of God and time and space and suns — 

Where they begin and end — 
"VYe naught can know; but in our zeal. 

We pitiably pretend ; 
At deepest darkness do we clutch. 

To infinitude we cling, 
And to and fro, twixt doubt and faith — 

Mere children, do we swing. 

Our child-taught faiths but satisfy 

The undeveloped mind; 
To fixed belief would ignorance 

The human conscience bind ; 
But ever through the dark we grope 

To view a far-off dawn ; 
Oh, thanks! Oh, joy! for disbelief. 

Which leads us grandly on. 

Which pushes errors old aside. 

By ignorance still held true. 
And bold explores tlie vast unknown 

To bring new worlds to view ; 
But ne'er the Infinite can we reach, 

'Not pierce eternal skies; 
Far only as ourselves can go — 
(The truths that we can prove and show). 

Can be our Paradise. 

Tims in our helplessness we learn 

To kind and loving be. 
And toward our ignornnt brothers turn, 

In generous sympathy; 



BLIND BILL 

And as we broader grow in thought. 

This life becomes more dear ; 
And clearer from unclouded eyes. 
We see all roads to Paradise 
Lead to the Xow and Here. 



55 



BLIND BILL 

When we were boys down on the farm, we 'd often dispute and 

seldom agree. 
For when we came to divide the stock, the worst invariably fell 

to me; 
Any old roadster would do for John, who travelled rarely, except 

to mill, 
So, in claiming the horses, I, of course, got badly left with old 

Blind Bill. 

Tho' shabby and plain, I 'd lots o' pride — that pity too, which 

graciously tends 
To link together the suff'ring of earth, and make 'em the warmest 

and best o' friends. 
But ever it seemed I had worst o' luck, and poor old William was 

bony and blind, 
So naturally we grew chummy at once, and certainly looked like 

two of a kind. 

The coarser boys would join in their sport, when I galloped him 

into the town, — 
Cry — "Hi, there ! Johnny cotton-top ! what '11 ye take for your 

high-strung chestnut brown ? 
"Say ! where did ye git that stack o' old bones ? Go and give him 

the corn-crib cure! 
"Ye 'd both o' ye better stay close home, or the buzzards '11 git ye 

sure." 

"Why do n't ye git him a pair o' specs? An' say! old hay-seed, 

what 's his time ? 
"You should put that racer on to the track I to farm such a horse 



56 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

"Hooray ! for old bones an' the country- jake ! Do n't the pair o' 

them make a match?" 
Then zip 'd come a corn-cob whizzin' by, or a tomato ripe from 

the patch. 

"Ah, yes !" said I, "ye sneakin' snobs, ye can hide around an' 

sling yer slang; 
"Jes come square out in the middle o' the pike, an' I '11 lick the 

whole she-bang." 
But their heartless jibes and cruel jeers never wounded my pride 

in the least. 
For I gave him all the tenderer care, and he fattened a handsome 

beast. 

At a gentle nod or a pat of the hand, he would show that he was 
glad, 

And would turn to me his sightless eyes, as to the only friend 
he had; 

And he seemed to say : "Your presence cheers — ^you 're compan- 
ionable, good, and kind ; 

"You do not beat and starve Old Bill, just because he is helpless, 
cheap, and blind." 

"So closely you guard his stumbling steps, and you never com- 
mand with a blow, 

Xor suddenly jerk at the cruel bit, as if the blind should see and 
know ; 

I can never express my grateful thoughts, for alas ! alas ! I am 
dumb; 

But for being kind to a brute that 's blind, you '11 happier be in 
3'ears to come." 

The harvests came and the harvests passed, and ever warmer our 

friendship grew, 
But we had to sell the farm at last, the cattle, the sheep, and 

horses too. 
"When the auctioneer and neighbors came, to the woods I went 

and stayed all day; 
For 1 could n't endure to see them sell, and lead my dear ohl 

friend away. 



THE UNATTAINABLE 



57 



He grieved, I think, and missed me mncli, when his lot was hard, 

and his rations slim, 
And many 's the time, in the long, long years, I 've wondered 

what became of him; 
His sightless eyes I see plain again, as oft he strained them so 

hard to see. 
And I feel the pity I gave him then, has been no loss, but a gain 

to me. 

And if e'er I 'm called to the judgment stand, (and they say I 

certainly will). 
Should the books be balanced against my life, I '11 ask 'em to trot 

out Bill,— 
Give him sight and speech that he may plead and witness my 

kindness of long ago ; 
But saved or damned, 1 'd rather meet Bill, than most of the folks 

that I know. 



THE UiS^ATTAINABLE 

There 's none with self so satisfied. 

But some one else they 'd be ; 
There's none with freedom gratified. 

But still would be more free ; 
For beauty, glory, wisdom, wealth. 
Lure each one on by gentle stealth. 

Through life, eternally. 
Eorever o'er the heads of each. 
Hang golden fruits beyond our reach ; 
There 's none, however richly blessed, 
But, discontented, go in quest. 

Of something they have not ; 
As high as genius all aspire. 
And even genius would mount higher. 

By God, Himself, be sought; 
And none, however they be classed. 
Are reconciled when life has passed. 
But, disappointed, die at last. 



58 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER TERSE 

Eemote, obscure, forever lies 
In skies, beyond the farthest skies, 
The unattainable. A world of wrecks — 
Wedged hulls with rent, dismantled decks. 

Crowd every shore of time; 
No ships there be that sail the sea. 
But to this end, eventually. 
Must come ; be buff etted and lashed. 
By waves, thro' which they fearless dashed. 
And over which they queenly flashed — 

'Now coated with their slime ; 
E'en so, the end of every life. 
That proudly sails tliis sea of strife — 

Upon its face a speck ; 
;N'one gain the port they most would reach. 
And set adrift at last are each. 
To rot upon some lonely beach, 

A disappointed wreck. 



WAY UP m ADAMS COUNTY 

I Ve been away to the sea-shore, 

I 've done the cities East ; 
I 've mingled with the whirling tliroug. 

And sat me at the feast; 
And back again to my office, 

I glide in the old routine. 
While oft I sigh for the ocean. 

And the many sights I 've seen. 

But more I sigh for the country, 

And I can't get any rest ; 
For I 'm sick to see old Adams, — 

The place, to me, the best ; 
And I can't resist the notion, 

To take a sudden flight; 
I 'm sick to see old Adams, 

And I 'm sfoing tliere to-niglit. 



WAY UP IN ADAMS COUNTY 59 

Just to be there in October, — 

See the forest all ablaze. 
And the russet fields, gray mantled 

With the Indian summer's haze ; 
See the tinted leaves descending. 

Thick within the wood-lands old, — 
A million dipped in crimson blood. 

And a million dipped in gold. 

Just to hear Bob White callins; 

lo his wild and wandering chicks; 
And the sound of ripe nuts falling. 

As I club the trees with sticks ; 
And to tramp across the corn-fields. 

All shocked and in the row. 
And to wander through the thickets. 

Where the clustered wild-grapes grow. 

And I want to see the people. 

In the vale and on the hill. 
And learn who 's dead among them, 

And who are living still ; 
And sit at the loaded tables. 

And hear them quaintly say, 
"Sail in, and do n't be bashful, — 

Was n't 'spectin' you to-day." 

"Have n't much— but you 're welcome. 

To such as we have got ; 
Help yourself to the chicken gravj^. 

There's plenty more in the pot; 
Jes' have this ham upon your plate. 

You 're eatin' nothin' at all ; 
You '11 starve to death at such a rate," 

(Tho' I 'm swellin' like a ball). 

And I have n't come to dumplin's. 

And cake and float and pie; 
(I slyly slip my belt a notch. 

To loosen a smothered sigh) ; 



60 REMINISCENT EHYMES AND OTHEK VEKSE 

It 's the way of the dear old women. 
With whom it is understood. 

You must eat till you 're running over. 
To show that the cookings good. 

So bless all the dear old faces. 

And the welcome that from them beams ; 
And bless all the old time places. 

Where I dreamed my dream of dreams; 
I 've been idling by the sea-shore. 

Mid throngs so gay and bright ; 
But I 'm sick to see old Adams, 

And I 'm going there to-night. 



WONDEE 



At the usual wonders the wise man. 

At the unusual wonders the fool ; 
And thinks he is just of the size-man 

As the president of the school. 
Wonder and blunder 
He labors under, — 
Votes right along for political plunder. 
And raises his praise at pulpit thunder. 

As tho' he reasoned by rule ; 
It 's wonder that leads most men thro' life 

To the banks of the Eiver Stygian ; 
And even beyond the inscrutable pond. 

For of wonder they make their religion. 



TEUE COUEAGE 

True courage is not greatest found 

Depending upon numbers ; 
Too oft, when to the many bound. 

It, liberty encumbers. 
The bravest soul acts for itself ; 

What others think, don't matter; 
The lion never counts nor weiglis 

The flocks he has to scatter. 



man's relation to nature 61 



MAN'S EELATION TO NATURE 

Bright, but bloody is nature's upward course. 

Grandly, gloriously, she sways the earth, 

And it diversifies with color fair, 

With light and form and sound to charm the sense. 

And foods and fruits and precious things for use, 

And mysteries strange, to thought inspire. 

And passion strong to reproduce our kind. 

And so, incites man with the love of life. 

These, her raw materials, she provides. 

And nothing more. What progress man may make, 

Through his own thought and toil and strife must come. 

Where one weak mite to self-support attains. 

Ten weaker ones expire. All the long way. 

From germ to genius, each fights for place. 

Each stomach fierce of animal and man, 

A seething cauldron is of death. Life is, 

Because death greater is. That few may live. 

The many die. Appalling tragedy ! 

The strong of men, weak millions tramp to death. 

That they, above their prostrate forms, may mount 

To fame and power. Thus savage man contends, 

Thus life upon life preys, and thus the fit 

And strong survive. 

Tho' just or not, tho' men 
Pray long and loud for help and change, this law 
Of blood and might is savage nature's will. 
For human life, save that she reason gives. 
In varying degree, no more for man she cares. 
Than for the meanest beast. The microbe lays 
Immortal genius low. Disease and death 
Their harvests reap of infant buds. The germ 
Unhorses the mightiest general. He, who 
The deadly germ escapes, confronted is. 
With ghoulish, grinning age. Fire, flood, 
Famine, pestilence, and storm alike, sweep 
Sinner and saint from earth. When tempests rage. 
And to blind fury lash the midnight seas, 
The prayer of priest no mightier is to save, 



62 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Than squeak of mouse within the ship's deep hold. 
Both man and mouse alike, to darksome depths. 
Go darting down. For even him, who best 
Bright nature's charms portrayed, and sweetest sang 
Her praise^ — for him she showed no tenderer care 
Than for the dumbest boor that pnts to sea ; 
And so, was stilled sweet Shelley's skylark song. 

There 's no such thing as Special Providence, 

Nature, within herself, both devil is and God, 

Both just and unjust ; both crnel and kind ; 

Xor to the right nor left doth e'er she turn. 

Or swerve for any man. Each for himself. 

The risks of nature must assume and face. 

And his own Providence be. Intelligently, 

The famished Avild-fowl to tlie water flies. 

Whilst thirst-crazed man dies in his fruitless search. 

As inconsiderate of human life, 

Are heat and rain, as to the lowliest forms. 

The king, exposed to cold, as hard will freeze, 

As the apple lingering on the autumn bough. 

In nature, there 's no sentiment. When drouth 

And famine reign, and glassy, ghastly eyes. 

In sunken sockets set, to heaven upturn 

Their pleading gaze, — when highway, field and lane 

Are thickly strewn with gaunt and famished frames. 

Of thousands dead — for vulture and for kite — 

A carrion feast — where then is Providence? 



When groans the heavens and the tempests rage. 
When rocks the mountain, and wrinkles the shore. 
When templed cities, cross-crowned, sink from sight. 
And men far down beneath the submerged w.alls, 
In pinioned darkness, groan and weep and pray — 
When at the very air ten thousand hands 
Above the angry tides for succor clutch, 
And shrieking mothers borne on mountain waves 
Lift high their babes, and for deliverance cry — 
Where then is Providence? Where then is He, 
Who mighty is to save, e'en to the uttermost ? 



MAN s kp:lation to nature 

Too long, too long, my friends, hath faith fooled man. 

In ignorance groped, of the part which he. 

To nature bears. When others fail from base, 

Unmanly fear of giving fools offense. 

Or from desire of popular applause. 

Or more, perhaps, irom thrifty sale of verse, 

(A fact too common in these greedy times). 

Let me be bold, however it displease, 

Or what the loss of favor, friends, or gold. 

To speak the simple truth. Xot I, to crook 

The knee to self-appointed lords of thought. 

Who, by base misdirection of men's minds. 

Grow fat upon their ignorance and fears; 

Let me, as well as to emotion warm. 

To science thrill, and nature crude portray. 

Just as she is, and these to poetry add. 

First then, should eacli man come to know that he, 

No more, no less than bird or worm, is bound 

By nature's, not by super-nature's laws ; 

That to her primal forms, all subject are. 

And in them, pity no preferment holds ; 

That she, constructive and destructive is; 

That which she builds, she mercilessly tears down. 

Be it microbe, man, city, state, or world ; 

That naught in all of life remains unchanged — 

Naught stays that comes, and naught that goes is lost; 

That blood of kings, no bluer is than apes'. 

And more than likely, not one half so pure ; 

That gods in nature, no existence have — 

That they and saviours mystify the mind — 

To war and hate and cruel deeds incite, 

And of man's happiness can be no part. 

These simple truths must men and nations learn, 

E'er they to nature can adapt themselves. 

Or stable government and peace secure. 

Or progress make, or high o'er others rise. 

And still exist when they have passed away. 

What see we, and what learn we from the past ? 

Through oft repeated asons, dim and gone, 

Man rose to lofty power, great cities built, 



63 



64 REMINISCENT EHYMES AND OTHER YEKSE 

And having god-like grown in thought and speech, 

Eeceded back to pale oblivion's shades. 

Aye, civilizations beyond compare. 

By gods directed, e'en as great as ours. 

Have passed from earth. Extremes beget reaction, 

And back to barbarism, great nations lapse. , 

Beware thee, then, men, of the excess 

Of these mad times, when more and more the few 

To affluence grow, whilst the many poor. 

In WTetched discontent fret out their lives. 

Learn thou, that poverty, though it impels 

To self-support, and noble toil and thought. 

The greatest breeder is of vice and crime. 

Learn thou, that nation strongest e'er will be, 

That sees that all men get their healthy share; 

Learn thou, that not by sway of faith and fear, 

Nor by compulsion and oppressive laws, 

Which hypocrisy beget; nor by wealth; 

Nor great domain ; nor population vast ; 

Nor cities of great size ; nor trade nor art ; — 

Aye, not by these, which nations dead and gone, 

In large excess possessed, must we depend. 

Would we a nation firm and fixed endure. , 

But rather, by that measurement of man. 

Which measures woman by himself, and holds 

Her equal; which looks to science and a pure 

Democracy as the base of future weal ; 

AVhich knows the strength which firm in union binds. 

Lies not in making Christians, Pagans, Jews, 

Of men, but citizens. Which knows that liealth. 

And wise selection, and pure food and blood. 

And normal labor, pleasure, ease and sleep, 

Are nature's prime essentials to long life. 

Those nations, therefore, longest will survive. 

Which life's resources frugally conserve, 

AVhich laws of reproduction learn and heed. 

And class distinctions level or reduce. 

To ways conducive to the growth of all; 

Whose first and prime concern must ever be, 

Tlie kind of men and women they turn out. 



ANCESTKY 



ANCESTRY 



65 



"Who would disparage noble birth, 

Is lost to Imman pride; 
Who 'd boast of it, of things to boast. 

Has little else beside; 
The proper stuff the wood must have 

That always burns the best ; 
Likewise the same be in the man 

Who outshines all the rest. 



Men babble oft of noble blood — 

What blood more rich and pure. 
Or noble than the king of beasts? 

None other, I am sure; 
Yet still the king is but a brute. 

With ne^er a noble gift; 
'T is work and woi'th and brains, that men. 

Above the level lift. 



The origin of all mankind 

Is proved to be the same; 
Thro' insect up to animal — 

All savage — thus we came; 
The only pride which then to men. 

Can properly belong, 
Is the good that may develop 

From out the brave and strong. 



'T is naught that some may proudly point 

To a dukedom or a crown; 
To lords and premiers of state, 

And heroes of renown; 
For just as proudly others cling 

To humble source of birth; 
That wrought out the philosophies^ 

And progress of the earth. 



66 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHEK VEKSE 

He only then is justified 

In his ancestral pride^ 
"Whose own superior soul hath won 

A standing by their side; 
For, after all, the question comes 

To each, who must reply, 
Not who my great grandfathers were, 

But who, in fact, am I. 

Shrewd nature hath a levelling way 

In totalling her sum; 
All princes came at first from slaves. 

And slaves from princes come; 
What matter then what our descent ? 

The distance is not far. 
From a linen-dustered Lincoln 

To an ermine coated Czar. 



THE CHILDEEN OF THE TENEMENTS 

Oh, the children, the children, in the city far away ! 
I am thinking of you, darlin's as by the brook I stray ; 
With such wealth of nature round me, I can not use it all, 
I want you here to share it, so to you I loudly call ; 
Come out from the foul tenements and passages so dim, 
Come away from beds of sickness in garrets bare and grim. 
Come where the brooks are babbling and flashing in the sun, 
I want you, little children, yes, I want you every one. 

Come out among the blossoms all bespangled with the dew, 
For you were made for them, my dears, and they were made for 

you; 
And so were golden sunshine, and tlie perfumed laden airs. 
To grow the roses in your cheeks, and lighten all your cares ; 
For your cares, they are so many, and sad are all your days, 
With the siglits and sounds degrading, that mingle with your 

plays; 
Yes! 'tis flow'iy field and woodland, and sunset and sunrise, 
Will put glory in your faces and heaven in your eye?. 



THE CHILDREN OF THE TENP:MENTS 67 

Oh, I ^11 show you many wonders, at which you '11 surely stare, 
Of birds and bees and blossoms, and of insects strange and rare ; 
The snail and snapping beetle, and the wisest bug of all. 
That knows exactly what you say and answers to your call ; 
We '11 all kneel 'round his dusty house, built something like a cup. 
Say : "Mooley ! Mooley ! come out yer hole !" an' see him bob 

right up ; 
And I '11 show you next the craw-fish, and how he backward 

goes,— 
(Look out when you go wading, or he '11 nab you by the toes). 

And we '11 watch the ants a 'totin their big and hea^^ loads. 
And the wiggling tad-polec changing themselves to little toads; 
And we '11 all chase Mr. Grasshopper, as off he soars and sings, — 
(I hope you 're not like some bad boys, who pull away his wings) ; 
And I '11 show you daddy long-legs, the slimmest of the slim, 
Oh, my ! but you '11 be tickled when you take a look at him ; 
If you could reach as far as he, according to your size, 
You could nearly step clear off the earth, or kick and hit the 
skies. 



We'll hunt Jack-in-the-pulpits— Johnny- jump-iips 'round the 

stumps, 
(It 's queer Jack never preaches, and that Johnny never jumps) ; 
And we '11 seek the rare wild flowers which lovingly express. 
The sweetness of 3'our childhood, and the charms of tenderness ; 
And just for you, my darlin's, they '11 don their daintiest frocks, 
The ferns will bow so graceful, where they grow among the 

rocks, 
And tlie butter-cups and daisies, the hawthorn and blue-bells. 
Will smile their very sweetest, as we wander down the dells. 

And we '11 watch the buzzard sailing away up in the skies ; 
And we '11 peep into the bird's nests, and chase the butterflies ; 
And the chip-munks and the bunnies, that run so cunningly. 
And we'll try to find the whip-poor-will, singing in the tree; 
And we '11 wander thro' the pasture, and watch the lambs at pla}'. 
Gather elder-berry blossoms, and toss the new-mown hay. 
Then go to see old Brindle and her little bossy calf, — 
But of all the things to show you, I liavo n't told you half. 



68 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Oh, I '11 show you birds and blossoms, a hundred diff'rent kinds, 
And all things most in harmony with tender little minds ; 
And for a day at least, dears, you '11 forget your griefs and cares. 
The wretched gloomy hovels, and the long, dark flights of stairs, 
The vulgar sights all 'round you, and the coarse words in your 

ears. 
And the cuffings and the scoldings, that drown your eyes in tears ; 
And the foul and sickl}^ odors, which fill your narrow rooms. 
Will change to breezes laden with the breath of fragrant blooms. 

Yes, 't is here I 'd have you wander thro' all the summer hours ; 
'Tis here I 'd lay the sickly ones on heaped-up-beds of flowers ; 
For 't is stream and field apd v/oodland, and sunset and sunrise, 
Will put roses in your faces, and glory in your eyes ; 
For you were made for them, my dears, and they were made for 

you, 
To make you love the beautiful, and start you toward the true; 
So come where brooks are babbling and flashing in the sun, 
I want you, little children, yes, I want you every one. 



AMBITION 



The tree that nearest towards the sky, 

Lifts high its stately form. 
Is first to challenge shafts that fly. 

From out the raging storm; 
Is first amid the thunder's roar. 

To feel the tempest's blast; 
But last at night, to view the light. 

The sunset splendors cast. 

High hearts see in the distance clear. 

Some mountain to be trod. 
And from its towering summit hear 

The clarion call of God, — 
To mount, to rise, where crystal skies. 

Pavilion truths sublime; 
And sunset bars impale the stars. 

That crown the brow of time. 



THE UNEVEN POKTION 

THE JOYS OF MIND 

Whatever comes nearest to mental joy. 

The purer ai:d choicer it is; 
He best prepareth for another life. 

Who seeketh the wisdom of this ; 
Oh, there 's never a joy, so free of alloy. 

From the face of nature beams. 
As to ponder alone, in a world all your own, 

Of which ignorance never dreams ; 
To scale the high mount, and drink at the fount 

Of reason's eternal streams ; 
To look down on the proud, and faith fooled crowd. 

With your head among the stars. 
As they grovel in mold, for a handful of gold. 

And are fretted with ceaseless jars; 
To feel them beneath you, and see them grope, 

For a fleeting moment of power, 
And leave naught beside, but a flasli of pride. 

With death for their only dower; 
Even faith and love, and the virtues above. 

Hath cruelties, bloody, refined; 
But the joy that is wrought, by aspiring thought, 

Ennobles the whole of mankind ; 
Gives strength to the free, to the slave liberty. 

Surpassing all others combined; 
Aye, there ne'er was a bliss, in the next world or this. 

Like the conquering stride of the mind. 



65 



THE UNEVEN PORTION 

Tho' uneven may seem the portions of life. 

Blame it not altogether on men ; 
For Nature hath shaped a head and a face 
To fit every disagreeable place, 

Be it toil with sho'vel or pen; 
But giveth she each the will to be free. 

To fight for his share and never despair. 
And excel in his work, whatever it be; 
Thus Nature hath different fashioned each soul, 
To pursue different ways, and develop the whole. 



70 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



LIKED THAT FELLEK 

Ever know Jim Thomas? No? Wall, he wuz 
Chum o' mine — that wuz long afore joiu day ; 
Wuz raised up in Adams here, ^mong the hills. 
Quaint chap he wuz — did n^t have much ter say ; 
^Bligin' to neighbors — often run their chores, 
Perlite to the old folks — none o' who 'd believe, 
^At he wuz ring-leader in many a bad prank, 
Sich as tearin' up the town on each Holler Eve ; 
Studied all the time, but when he turned loose, 
Wuz first in the gang at makin' things hot ; 
An' ginerally at school, stood 'mong the best, 
An' then agin, wnz worst un' in the lot ; 
Helped ye with yer sums, shared what he had, — 
Pop-corn or apples — russet, red or yeller, — 
Treated all alike, an' ev'ry one sed. 
They liked that feller. 

Drifted into teachin' an' then into law ; 
Studied like sin when he 'd sowed his wild oats. 
An' next he wuz round, a shakin' each paw, 
Kissin' the babies an' solicitin' votes. 
Wuz runnin' fer congress — Eooster Candidate; 
Sure, both sides alike felt a pride in Jim, 
An' we made up our minds, both airly an' late, 
If any one wuz 'lected, 't wuz goin' ter be hmi. 
That 's the way in old Adams — wiiz 'lected, you bet ; 
Did n't make him stuck-up — did n't git swelled head. 
Cum 'round common-like, seemed jist the same. 
But the worst, wuz leavin' old friends, ho sed ; 
An' all o' the wimmen, fer whom he done chores, — 
Old Widder Fry an' Aunt Polly Keller 
Sed they 'd make the men keep him right thar, fer 
They liked that feller. 

Jim sent us an invite up to Washin'ton ; 

Sed he 'd show us sights 'ould make our hair curl ; 

'At he liked the home-folks, good deal the best — 

Sent all the wimmen seeds — even the hired girl; 

Didn't fergit anybody — alwuz jes the same; 

Wuz n't shamed a' his rcarin' — held his head high ; 




Writ he 'd like to be 'round our old spring-house, 
Gittin' outside o' milk, an' some pumpkin pie ; 
"Wall, we jist picked up, an' dropped down on Jim; 
Glad ter see us? should say ! showed he wuz glad; 
Hugged the old wimmen' — piloted us all 'round. 
An' we jist had the hest time ever we had; 
Took us to a banquet — lasted two hours. 
An' some of u's got jist a little meller; 
Looked as tho' Jim played a trick on us, but — 
AVe liked that feller. " 
71 



THE NEW WOMAN 73 

Seemed jes^ like a visit back home he sed; 
Fer sight o' home-folks, he 'd many time prayed. 
An' the ol'-fashioned flowers the wimmen took him, 
Wuz rifts o' sweet sunshine from fields where he M Etrayexl. 
Wall, we kept Jim thar fer many a -year; 
We 'd run him agin, an' keep up his fight, 
Fer, we 'd raised him ; an' knew whatever he did. 
Cum purty nigh bein' jist about right; 
But the news came home to us all one day, 
'At Jim had took sick, an' suddenly died ; 
Then many a cheek was wet right away. 
An' some went off to 'em'selves, an' cried ; 
An' when we all stood 'round his open grave, 
Thar wuz more 'n me could n't help but heller ; 
An' "Good-bye, Jim," thro' our tears we sed, fer — 
We liked that feller. 



THE BRAVELY WRETCHED 

AVho ^re given to chronic grumbling and grief, 

And constantly feed on vexation, 
In chloroform should seek brain relief. 

And a surgical exploration; 
The world careth not for your mournful mien. 

And none of your troubles would borrow; 
Sincerely they grieve who grieve unseen, 

And in silent manliness sorrow; 
In the whole of Creation's critical plau, 
Find aught more admirable, if you can, 
Than a bravely wretched, sweet-souled man. 



THE NEW AVOMAN 

All learned women are ridiculed. 
Who in public speak, or by pen; 

For the simple reason they put to shame 
The unlearned millions of men. 



74 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



THE BLACK WALNUT TEEE 

Do YOU remember, dear Robert, those old autumn days, 

When we gathered the nuts for our holiday store? 
The rude wagon we made, with wheels sawed from boards, 

The bed of a store-box, a yard long or more ? 
How those wheels ran inwards, then turned and ran out? 

The racket they made, as they wobbled so free? 
How we started off fast, and pulled up at last. 

Way out in the field, ^neath the black walnut tree ? 

On the long leafless limbs, just waiting to drop. 

Hung the ripe pungent nuts, exposed to our view; 
And thick in the frost-bitten grass at our feet. 

Lay scattered, I reckon, a bushel or two ; 
And soon we were hurling our clubs in the boughs, 

And down they clattered, with a rat-ta-tat-tee ! 
Oh, would n't your heart bound, could you now hear the sound. 

Of the fall of the nuts from that black walnut tree? 

Then into the baskets we *d gather them fast. 

And pile them up high in a heap near the trunk ; 
While oft thro' the branches, a ripe nut would shoot, 

And light on our head with a rousin' ker-plunk ; 
AVe would then hull them out with both hands and heels. 

Till as black as a crow, they would often be ; 
And picture delights, when we 'd visit at nights. 

To crack the dried nuts from the black walnut tree. 

When at last the wagon was full to the top, — 

The big coft'ec-sack, and the baskets beside. 
Then back to the village we toted the load, 

Our stained faces glowing with redness and pride. 
You pushed and I pulled, as we tugged up the hill. 

And many and many a break-down had we, 
When we 'd strike a deep rut, or slide in a cut. 

Coming wearily home from the black walnut tree. 

But many the winters that have passed away, 
Since you came to see me, and I went to see you. 

When by the log-heap's light, in tlie frosty night. 
We studied our lessons and cracked the nuts too ; 



HOME TIES ^O 

Yes, long are the years we have journeyed ajDart, 
And all silvered we 've grown, and dimly we see ; 

Ah ! here 's my grand-tad, and a neighbor lad, 

With a pan full of nuts from that old walnut tree. 

As I sit by the chimney and watch their joys. 

Precisely the same as our own, old chum, 
I think of the winters, when we two were boys, 

And of how my heart bounded to hear you come. 
And to-night, Bob, 1 list for your footsteps again. 

For your stamp on the porch, and your whistle of glee; 
And again sliines your face, 'round the old fire-place. 

As I tell the lads tales of the black walnut tree. 



HOME TIES 

As LONG as we had mother with us, 

We little inclined to roam; 
Nor far did the family scatter 

From our old-time country home; 
We would have our frequent re-unions. 

Round the fire-place with its crane. 
Ah ! I still hear the sleigh-bells jingling. 

Coming nearer down the lane. 

I see the glad rush and the welcome. 

Of each one in from the >snow; 
And the bluster round the big log-heap, — 

Each face reflecting its glow; 
See the feast, and all gathered round it, — 

Hear the stories each one tells; 
The good-byes and cheer at departure, 

And fading clang of the bells. 

But at last, when our mother left us, 
And full seemed sorrow's deep cup, 

"It will be home", we said, "no longer", 
"The circle is broken up"; 



3iEMI^•lSCE>sT KIIYMKS ASD (JTUEll VEKSE 

But father remained with our sisters. 
While in ev'ry room all through, 

blether ever seemed to be present. 
And the old home dearer grew. 

And we said when father was taken, 

(And oh, how we clung to him!) 
"It will be home again, no never, 

The cup is full to the brim" ; 
But it seemed both father and mother 

Together hallowed the place; 
And in every dear spot familiar, 

A glimpse of them we could trace. 

They sat in their seats at the table, — 

They wandered from room to room, 
And a thousand sweet home memories. 

Dispelled the grief and the gloom : 
And oft round about the old fire-place. 

Their faces appeared to glow, 
And somehow, far dearer than ever. 

The old home seemed to grow. 

And tho' w^e assemble less often, 

And one by one we return, 
Still the dearest place is our birth-place. 

Still brightly the old fires burn; 
And never the cup runneth over. 

And ne'er doth affection wane. 
For centered are all the old home-ties. 

In our sisters who remain. 

Yes, the old house still has its welcomes, 

And still its tender farewells. 
Blest memories of father and mother. 

And of childhood's dreamy spells; 
Oh men ! cast adrift on life's ocean, 

Xo matter how far 3^ou roam. 
As long as you have a dear sister, 

You still have a place called Home. 



THE HOLLYHOCK 



THE CHASTENED JOY 

The clouds that hide the blue of the skies. 
From the earth, and not from heaven arise, 

Our sorrows are mostly our making; 
But many there be of the keenest sting, 
Xot from ourselves, but from nature spring, 
And our joys are clipped, as they mount to wing. 

And stricken souls set aching. 

But more fruitful far is the luscious vine. 
And richer by far the taste of the wine. 

Because of the spring-time pruning; 
So the joy, by sorrow pruned of excess, 
More fruitful is made, by making it less. 
For closer it brings the world in distress, 

To pity all hearts attuning. 



THE HOLLYHOCK 

There 's naught I know more soothing 

Than bein' back once more, 
Jes' a lollin' in the sunshine. 

All 'round the kitchen door, 
Watchin' the flowers bloomin' 

Mother planted long ago ; 
Especially the Hollyhock, 

The dearest flower I know. 

There are others sweeter^ fairer. 

But this I most prefer. 
For it keeps a bloomin' yearly. 

And minds me most o' her; 
Again I watch the lettuce birds 

Alight upon their stocks ; 
Was ever picture lovelier, 

They, and the Hollyhocks? 



78 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER YERSE 

Here comes old Bumble prowling 

And buzzin' all around; 
He slips into the holly bell, 

And quick is captive bound; 
Jes' so I used to trap him. 

And oft would get a shock 
From the business end o' Bumble, 

Shut in the Hollyhock. 

• Yes, I love the homely flowers, 

They grow dearer ever-more; 
The flowers that mother planted 

All ^round the kitchen door; 
The verbenas and nasturtiums. 

The roses, moss, and phlox; 
But the stateliest and queenliest. 

Are the dear old Hollyhocks. 



LIVE WHILE YOU LIVE 

'T IS folly to grumble against the law 

To which our existence we owe; 
'T is our fate to die as well as to live. 

And the same way all of us go. 
Many the dreams and conjectures we make. 

Many flattering hopes we indulge, 
But ne'er an assurance doth nature give, 

Ne'er a word, nor a glimpse divulge. 

Then sifted down, of what value is life. 

But to live for it, here and now; 
The wealth of good health, and our ripest thought. 

To the future ages endow; 
Eat, drink, and be merry, join hands in toil. 

Love madly and kiss away care; 
For neither wisely nor well have you lived. 

If of love you get not your share. 

Then, be joyous to-day, for to-morrow you may 

Die; the present is all aglow; 
And the one philosophy true of life, 

Is to live for the life you know; 



HATE 79 

If another there be^, the better 'twill be. 

If happiness here leads the race; 
So, get the sepulchral out of your voice, 

And Third Century look from your face. 



HATE 



Oh ! 't is good to love and awaken love 

Tho' love may surfeit and cloy; 
But oft to awake implacable hate. 

Is even a sweeter joy: 
For sweet is hate to the righteous soul, 

AYho conquers a hateful foe; 
And 't is hate must sway and lead the way 

E'er tyranny be laid low. 

Aye, life has its hates as well as its loves. 

And both play a glorious part; 
For each takes its source, its start and its course. 

Direct from the human heart: 
Great loves have often pushed forward the world. 

Great hates have moved it as well ; 
And sin, hate assails, when often love quails. 

And Heaven is distanced by Hell. 

To hate the wrong and be hated in turn. 

By those whom the wrong defend; 
To baffle their power and standard lower. 

And oppression bring to end; 
To arise as a gladiator bold. 

And the power of greed defy; 
To stand for the right, and the battles fight, 

Of the crushed who make no cry. 

To thus awaken the hate of the king. 

And the venom of the priest; — 
Let the gods above feed their full on love, 

Such hate is a richer feast: 
For never men from their bondage escape 

But freedom with force doth mate. 
And the brave and strong, give battle to wrong. 

With hot, implacable hate. 



80 RKMIXISCEXT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



GITTEN THE SLEEP OUT 0' YOUR EYES 

It used to be an old sayin' o' Dad's, "Airly to bed, boys, an' 

airly to rise, 
An' do n't be the hull o' the mornin' gitten the sleep out o' yer 

eyes !" 
An' Dad did n't holler, "Bounce right out !" an' mean sumpin' 

else instead, 
Fer he certainly had a handy way of assistin' us out o' bed. 
Exactly at four he 'd call us, and I 'd shuffle into my clothes. 
An' puff as I pulled on my stogies, which were gin'rally stiff or 

froze ; 
Then I 'd light the old tin lantern, an' clear out fer the barn and 

shed ; 
An' wake up the shiverin' horses, an' curry 'em while they fed ; 
Then lift from the pegs the harness, an' adjust 'em to necks and 

backs, — 
Then skip up into the hay-loft, and fill all o' the empty racks; 
You may talk o' the thing, the coldest, you 've heerd of since yer 

birth. 
But 1 swear 'at a pitchfork handle's 'bout the coldest thing on 

earth. 

An' next I 'd clean out the stable, while the horses munched their 

corn. 
An' the cows were bellerin' breakfast, an' rooster tootin' his horn, 
An' the ducks, an' geese, an' gobblers all quackin' an' struttin' 

about. 
An' the pigs in the pen Jes' stai vin', an' squealin' fer all git out — 
Each nose pokin' over the railin', an' all clamorin' loud for more, 
"When corn round the pen lay scattered, 'at I 'd thrown 'em the 

night before; 
Jes' like a lot o' fool people, who stuff till their appetites clog, 
Who 've everything an' more 'n they want, but continue to squeal 

like a hog ; 
An' the calves and sheep were proclaimin' they al?o needed my 

care, 
An' kep' up a barnyard concert, until each liad gotten his share ; 
It 's with animals a^ with people. Dad's savin' right often applies. 
When lookin' fer others to feed 'em, they git the sleep out o' 

their eyes. 




Then I ^d grease the big Studebaker, — give each o^ the wheels a 

spin, 
An' jar off the mud from the felloes, an' insert the old lynch-pin. 
An' return the jack to the tool-house (kickin' the calves from 

my way), 
Then blow out the old tin lantern, fer by this time 'twas light 

as day; 
An' the bell wuz ringin' fer breakfast, when I 'd go back to the 

house — 
And break the ice in the rain-bar'l, an' give my face a dowse; 

81 



88 

11 ye 're tired o^ harborin' a snoozer, good fer nothin' but sleep 

an' eat; 
Jes' give him a mornin' job like this, an' ef he do n't wake up, 

I'll treat. 
It may not entirely reform him, but it '11 test his metal sure, 
An' fer huggin' the fire 'fore breakfast, cum purty nigh bein' a 

cure ; 
It 's oft that sayin' o' Dad's cums up, fer I 've noted with mucli 

sui'prise, 
That most o' boys grow up to be men, with the sleep still in 

their eyes. 



An' most o' men live out a life o' mingled dream an' mistake, 
Fer the simple reason that in their youths they never got wide 

awake. 
There 's some sit musin' an' dreamin' they 're destined to make a 

big stir, 
An' some who think that they, too, are great, because their grand- 
daddies were; 
An' some who dream they were made fer ease, because o' their 

breedin' an' tone. 
An' some whom a little office swells to the size of a king on his 

throne ; 
An' there 's some who vote the same ticket, an' boast 'at they never 

change, 
Who regard all differen' opinion as incomprehensibly strange ; 
Some dream that the trade o' the lawyer is defense o' the law he 

makes, 
An' some test every new faith cure, an' even chase after the fakes ; 
Oh, the world is full o' sich dreamers, of all ages, an' ev'ry size, 
Who know everything worth knowin', 'cept that they 've sleep in 

their eyes. 

Some dream of a day of freedom — of liberty of speech and 

thought, 
AVIien all alike '11 be free to think, but with Freethinkers fear to 

be caught. 
An' often the free, who loudly proclaim, that each shall say his 

say, 
Are tol'rant only when all the world is joggin' along their way. 



84 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Some dream that wealth '11 he evened up, hy the choice of im- 

even men, 
That perfection '11 sometime take the place o' Nature's imperfect 

plan; 
That peace o'er the world will hover, with the elements all at 

war, — 
The positive blend with the negative, without a jostle or jar; 
That sin from self '11 be banished, and the world '11 be ruled by 

love. 
An' instid o' goin' to the grave-yard, we '11 go soarin' to heaven 

above ; 
Oh, the world is full o' sich dreamers, who '11 remove all sham an' 

disguise, 
Sliould it ever chance that they waken, an' git the sleep out o' 

their eyes. 

An' there 's some who 're constantly dreamin' they hold com- 
munion with God, 

Who assume to lead or drive mankind with His ever chast'nin' 
rod; 

An' millions who ne'er dispute their claims — who pass for sensi- 
ble men, 

Are proud o' believin' at fifty-five, the dreams they believed at 
ten; 

AVho 're sure that they 're special objects o' the Heavenly Father's 
care. 

An' that every one else is goin' — well, I '11 not mention where ; 

That the world will never be righted, till to them it bows the 
knee, 

An' submits all future government to their sole authority ; 

Oh, the world is full o' reformers, who 're dreamin' out all o' the 
bad. 

Who '11 perduce so many millenniums, that any old choice ma}^ be 
had; 

Then Cause an' Effect '11 be ended — as the angels we '11 all be 
wise, 

When it cometh to pasR that the DKP]AMEKS git the sleep out 
o' their eyes. 



BLACKBEKKY IXG 



85 



BLACKBEREYING 

It's long afore the daylight, 'at I bounce right out o' bed, 

Do n't bother 'bout my breakfus', jes' gulp down some meat an' 

bread, 
Lift my straw-hat fi'om the bed-po?t, an' top my upper deck, 
'En tie my shoes together, an' swing 'em 'round my neck ; 
Hitch a tin-cup to my gallus, 'en lift the back-door latch, 
Grab the old split-basket, 'an clear out fer the berry patch. 
I pass out thro' the village, towards the field a mile away, 
Chucklin' o'er the lads a sleepin', how I '11 beat their time to-day; 
The sun is dartin' high his spikes, to show he 's comin' 'round. 
When I stand amid the berries, the first lad on the ground. 

It 's oft I feel the presence of a strange an' mystic power, 
Broodin' over Xature at this shaddery, witchin' hour ; 
The enchantment o' the morning my raptured senses sway, 
Ez my soul fills with the glory o' the wakenin' o' day. 
Tlie big, red sun begins ter peep above the eastern hills, 
AVliile the breathless dawn is broken b}^ comminglin' chirps an' 

trills ; 
A hundred merry orchestras swell from ez many trees. 
An' all the air is tinklin' with entrancin' melodies: 
Aroun' an' up the maples, the chatterin' squirrels chase. 
An' the rabbits all are seekin' their day-time squattin' place. 
An' myriad things 'at run an' fly come forth to greet the light. 
An' hail the morn ez if new born, their sense o' sound an' sight ; 
Ez I ketch their inspiration, it begins ter dawn on me, 
'At I 'm 'bout ez nigh ter Heaven, ez it 's possible ter be ; 
Fer with the songs o' sun-up, an' the morning's rosy glow, 
There 's jes' a peep o' Paradise, ef there 's any here below. 

'T would be very purty poetr}^ these rosy dawns o' life, 
Ef they did n't mean — "git up an' git", an' another day o' strife ; 
So 's I am out fer berries, I '11 chuck right into my shoes. 
Hang my basket on a sasserf rac, an' bresh away the dews, 
'An penetrate the briars 'at are higher 'an my head, 
All bendin' down with berries, 'at are black er rip'nin' red: 
I know where grow the finest ones, 'way down along the fence, 
An' the tall clumps in the wood-lands, is where they grow im- 
mense ; 



S6 EEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

An' right there 's a great big sink-hole, where two monster ser- 
pents stay, 
''At escaped from Sell's circus, when it came along this way. 
Xo one has ever seen 'em, 'cept Beazle Phibbs an' me. 
An' one wuz half way out the hole, an' t' other up a tree. 
An' both ez long 's a fence rail, an' twice ez big around, — 
Linds Xeal has lost a dozen sheep, an' Dick Smith lost his hound ; 
An' Xewt Darlin'ton sed scmethin' wuz a thinnin' down his 

flocks. 
An' had gotten in his spring-house, an' emptied all the crocks: 
An' George Short and Aleck Bayless, an' John Horner an' som^' 
more, ' 

When comin' from a party, heard 'em give a hiss an' roar: 
An' Ben Smith an' Ort De Bruin sed they had seen their eyes, 
Which glistened like a head-light, an' wuz big ez apple pies: 
An' Sam Vance an' Johnny Carl, an' Jess Eobbins an' Al Steeii, 
Sed they made the biggest snake-tracks, 'at they 'd ever seen : 
An' when Sam Massie an' John Osborne with reckless disregard, 
Declared 'at they 'ould capture 'em, an' git the big reward, 
A dozen volunteers arose, with hopes to git a slice. 
An' ez many other brave men, wuz free with their advice. 
Xed Doyle an' Philip Eothrock an' some other village dudes, 
Sed the best way to ketch 'em, wuz to set a-iire the woods ; 
And John Kendall an' Bill Keelcr, an' other heroes made, 
The proposition to git up a cavahy brigade. 
An' Bill Collins, he advised 'em, 'at they 'ould better set. 
Across the hole a coffee sack, er else a partridge net; 
While Dave Phibbs, the village wise man, an' carrier o' mails, 
Sed the best way wuz to sprinkle some salt upon their tails : 
Meanwhile, the snakes wuz swallerin' most everything in sight. 
An' culled folks an' childruns wuz keepin' in at night; 
So, I warned each berry picker, of he keered much fer his soul. 
He 'd better keep out o' the timber, down by 'at big sink-hole. 

Hight there 's my choicest pickin' — jes' no time fillin' my cup, 

(But it 's one o' the greatest wonders I do n't git swallered up :) 

An' soon I 've filled my basket, and sought the shade of a tree, 

Ez wet, er wetter 'n water, ef sich a thing could be ; 

I pull some leaves from a maple, which round the rim I line. 

Then to]) the heap 'itli berries, 'at 's extra big an' fine, 

Jes' to make 'em more attractive, an' invitin' to the view. 

An' lead to the impression, 'at tliey 're big 'at way all through; 



BLACKBERRYING 8 7 

But 'at do n't fool wise people — jes' like boys who 've lots o' gall, 
When you see 'em on the surface, you see 'em most o' all. 
Here come the lads from the village, in time to escape the dew, 
An' with 'em, some o' their sisters, an' some older people too ; 
I hear their tin cups rattlin', ez they clamber 'cross the fence. 
x\n' se€ 'em all a scatterin', ez at pickin' they commence ; 
There 's some chase twice around the field, an' here an' there they 

glean. 
But them 'at git the most go slow, an' pick the bushes clean ; 
Ef you spend yer time jes' runnin', an' pass good berries b}', 
Along afore December, you '11 run out o' jam an' pie: 
But it jes' seems human natur to be reachin' out fer more, 
An' where one succeeds, a hundred '11 stay forever poor ; 
So it 's best ter keep twixt fast an' slow, at what you 're drivin' at, 
Fer rollin' stones do n't ketch the moss, ner settin' hens git fat. 

Hey, there ! all o' you sleepj'-heads ! AVhere 've ye been all day, 

Jes' comin' into the briars, ez I 'm agoin' away ? 

Hullo, Buster! done your pickin'? 'En 'spose you take yer cup, 

An' stay along fer comp'ny, an' help us all fill up; 

There's goin' ter be bumble-bees to fight, an' lots o' snakes to 

chase. 
An' yaller-jackets to clean out, ef ye don't keer fer yer face; 
An' the mulberries are rip'nin', fer hully-smoke! jes' see, 
The way them sassy wood-peckers are flittin' 'round 'at tree. 

"Xufi sed" ! I 'm last to leave the patch when fightin 's ter be 

done, 
So, I '11 clip some poles an' iron weeds, an' make ready fer the 

fun ; 
I rnther admire ol' bumble, an' 1 like ter hear him sing, 
An' 'ould never think to fight him, but fer that darnation sting; 
It 's 'em little black-back devils, 'at kin bring ye to a stop. 
Sure, dynermite ain't anything, when they hit ye center-pop ; 
But yaller-jackets aie sneakin' — ye don't know when they're 

'bout. 
They wont fight fair like Bumble, so, I stomp 'em all right out ; 
An' fer snakes, I have ter hate 'em, jes' why, I do not know, 
''Cept their looks are 'ginst 'em, an' they dart their tongues out so. 
Say ! every one ! I 'm 'minded, it 's gittin' 'bout time o' day, 
When 'em big snakes come from their hole, so keep out o' the 

woods, I sav ! 



88 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

"Glad I stayed" ! I sez to myself, ez a blushin' maid trips past, 
I '11 pick up close and give to her the first cup an' the last ; 
Aint fergotten at spellin', how she let me turn her down — 
Do n't know why I smother like, when she comes larkin' 'round. 
Like berries ripe are them black eyes, her lips like them 'at's 

red, — 
I 'd pick a few ripe kisses, ef I had my way instead : 
But I '11 jes' tramp down the bushes, where the big ones hang in 

sight, 
Aint 'mindin' a bit the scratches, when 'em^ eyes are sparkin' 

bright ; 
Heerd old folks often talkin', 'bout love havin' thorns, ye know ; 
Sure, there alwuz will be briars, where the black-berries grow; 
Yes, there 's song and sun-rise glor}^, an' blushin' cheeks ter 

match. 
An' the tenderest kind o' feelin's, found in a berry patch. 
By an' by the pickin' is over, an' gobs o' sport an' fun, 
Fightin' ol' bumble an' jacket, an' keepin' snakes on the run, 
xVn' all ez happy or happier than millionaires or kings, 
Ez we chaw some Injun terbaccer, an' poultice up our stings. 
An' laugh at each other's faces (those o' us who kin see), 
An' all troop back to the village, bunged up ez we kin be. 

But alas ! I 'm only indulging a dream of the long ago. 
As I walk thro' the city market, past berry crates in a row;' 
And I smile at a trick familiar, on to which I quickly drop, 
At the bottom are the little-berries, the big ones on the top : 
For years I 've been watching the sellers. Heretic, Christian, and 

Jew, 
But have yet to find one honest enough to sort 'em the same all 

through ; 
Tliere are snakes too in the market, each scheming to swallow 

your roll. 
And where tliey are selling the choicest, look out for a big -sink- 
hole. 
And tliere's bees and yaller-jackets, with honey upon each tongue, 
A\'ith whom you 've got to be keerful, or you surely will get 

"stung" : 
But I must get home witli a measure, for the girl with the danc- 

in' eyes, 
A\'lio stole my heart in the berry patcli, is waitiir to make me 

some pies. 



89 



OPPORTUNITY 

The turbulent stream of treacherous Time, 

Is forever rushing by; 
On its fretful current floats the good bark 

Of fleet Opportunity; 
But one trip she makes, for each she lands. 

And ne'ex again doth return; 
Who ventures aboard— of her plenteous hoard. 

Both fame and fortune may earn. 

But who hesitates, who ventureth not 

At the critical moment to dare — 
To grip the occasion that comes but once, 

Neither fame nor fortune share; 
Nor the golden strand to which she speeds. 

He can never hope to reach ; 
But is left to stand on the shifting sand. 

Of a bleak and barren beach. 



COME ONE, COME ALL 

Across the street a banner. 

Announced in letters bold. 
There was going to be a picnic. 

For young as well as old; 
Eefreshments, music, dancing, 

A big prize game of ball ; 
"Everybody come, and welcome! 

Come one and come all !'^ 

Kind o' liked the reading of it,— 

Had a touch o' merry glee; 
Social, lovin', goin' to be happy. 

And so wanted all to be; 
Did n't bar a single person. 

Said in letters, big and tall, 
"Everybody come, and welcome! 

Come one and come all V 



90 kp:miniscent khymes and other vekse 

It would n"t much surprise me, 

Xo matter what folks say, 
If the great and loving Father, 

On the resurrection da}', 
Would order good Saint Peter 

Throw wide the gates and call, — 
"Ho ! This — way — every — body ! 

Come one and come all V' 



A PAT OF THE HAND 

Poor little Bossy ! in the market stand, 

Awaiting the butcher's knife; 
Here's a loving rub and pat of the hand. 

Ere he takes your innocent life ; 
As sadly I list to your plaintive moo, — 

See your great eyes softl}^ shine, 
I think of the days when the dumb, like you. 

Were the dearest friends of mine. 

So cruel, it seems, you should die so young. 

So baby-like seems your face. 
And not e'en a lick of your mother's tongue. 

In this strangely frightful place, — 
With its smell of blood and horrible sight. 

Of cold, dead flesh hanging round, 
And the swift, keen blades all flashing bright. 

And the saw's dull, sick'ning sound. 

So, here is a pat of the hand, my dear, 

Tho' a pat is n't very much, 
Tho' you shrink aside as with some strange fear. 

And timid grow at my touch ; 
Yet I sorely grieve at 3'our fate unkind, — 

Of life, you're a creature part ; 
And I sigh for the brute in the human mind. 

That would stab your baby heart. 

But soon, your warm blood will stain the cold floor. 

The butcher is whetting his knife; 
Ah ! could you have lived, you'd have fed some poor 

Weak infant, struggling for life; 



SOFT SOAP 



91 



As I pat jour head again and again, 
The thought of your murder sends 

Cold chills thro' ni}^ soul, that civilized men 
Should kill and devour their friends. 



SOFT SOAP 

Of all the jobs that to a boy can possil)ly befall, 

The one o' workin^ 'round the house is hardest of 'em all; 

Wuz the same as bein' in prison, an' pinin' to be free, 

With the jay-birds all around me, proelaimin' liberty ! 

An' voices o' my cronies from the play-ground over there, 

■'Bout ev'iy thirty seconds a splittin' the wide air; 

Did n't mind hog-killin' time, an' other stunts like 'at, 

'Cept grindin' sausage af ter'ards, an' renderin' out the fat ; 

Liked to blow the bladders up, an' hang 'em safe away. 

To jump upon 'em Christmas, an' welcome in the day; 

Hated to chase the chickens, when the parson came to eat, 

Kin hear 'em still a squawkin', as I held 'em by the feet; 

An' fer wrino^in' o' their heads off, mv conscience has its stins^s, — 

Kin see their blood a squirtin', an' their floppin' 'round, poor 

things ! 
Hev heerd it sed, the chicken's the most sacred bird — you see? 
'Cause so many of 'em "enter" — the holy ministry. 

There wuz lots o' other hustlin' with my bein' did n't chime, 
'Specially the exercise around house-cleanin' time; 
Carryin' out the feather-beds, to sun 'em on the fence. 
Then on some pesky citizens, a general raid commence; 
Takin' up an' beatin' carpets, an' tackin' 'em to the floor, 
(Fear the Book o' Life has records o' how often then I swore;) 
An' there wuz stirrin' apple butter, an' other fruits in turn, 
(Dassen't stop a single minute, fer fear they'd stick an' burn) ; 
Milkin' cows, an' churnin' daily, an' makin' schmier-case cheese ; 
Strippin' jackets from potatoes, stringin' beans an' shellin' peas ; 
Skimmin' milk an' emptyin' clabber, an' scaldin' out the crocks, 
Polishin' the kitchen stove, an' fillin' the old wood boi; 
An' my chums out in the alley, beck'nin' me to slip away. 
Say in' 'at they wuz certain 'at the fish 'ould bite to-day ; 
Oh, no ! sich dredgin' 'round the house wuz n't fancy sport to nie, 
When the fishes wuz a bitin', an' bloom on the do^jj-wood tree; 



92 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Per, there wuz n't any end to it — no sich thing ez gittin' through. 
An' it only shows you partly what the women had to do ; 
Fer they jes' kep' on a gain' by the tallow candle light. 
An' did another day's work, 'fore they turned in fer the night; 
Man's work has got a limit — only lasts from sun to sun, 
But w^oman 's got a contract, 'ats never, never done. 

But I 've been a good while sayin' what I started out to tell. 
Can't name all the houochold dredgin' 'at to my lot befell; 
But the job 'at wuz most strenuous, an' widest in its scope, 
AYuz my annual manufacture of old soft soap; 
Saved up all the ashes 'at wuz burnt from hick'ry wood. 
The hottest an' the snappiest, no wood wuz half so good; 
Dock Davis made his coffin o' it — sed, "Thar 's nothin' 'bout it 

lackin', 
An' should he go where it is hot, he 'd go thro' thar a crack in'," 
Poured water on the hopper, an' started runnin' down the lye. 
Had a lot o' stone jars handy, to hold it bye an' bye; 
An' as the burnin' liquid came a drippin' from the leach, 
It minded me o' the sermons, 'at the preachers used to preach. 
Dropped an egg into it, to see if it wuz strong enough, 
Ef it floated on the surface, sure it wuz bitin' stuff; 
Soaked a feather in it, 'en run my thumb along its length, 
Ef the fringes dropped off easy, you kin bet it had the strength. 

Dissected a big Dutchman, my first course o' college term. 
The ligerments an' gristles held his bones together firm; 
Brought 'em home upon vacation, to bleach 'em up an' dry. 
By puttin' 'em in bilin' w^ater, an' add in' a lot o' lye ; 
Skeered the women an' some visitors nearly half to death. 
An' old Aunt Betsy Baker toddled home clear out o' breath ; 
Soon it spread among the neighbors, 'at I wuz certain seen, 
Disposin' of a body, 'at wuz stripped and very lean; 
'At it 'peared somewhat suspicious, 'at a murder 'd taken place. 
An' some one ought to go around, an' 'vestigate the case; 
The Marshal an' a posse came around there bye and bye. 
Took a stick an' went to stirrin' in 'at kettle o' hot lye; 
An' the more they kep' a stirrin', the more they had to stare, 
Fer there wuz n't any Dutchman or a sign o' Dutchman there ; 
Ez much surprised ez they wuz, I declared my innocence. 
An' they sed they could n't 'rest me, ez they had no evidence; 




An' as sheepish they departed, I soft exclaimed — "By Joe !" 
The l3^e 'ats in that kittle, beats all the lies I know." 
Snre, the secret o' soap makin', should you ever want to try. 
Is first be sure an' certain, you 've got a good strong lye ; 

93 



SOFT SOAP 95 

Jes' fill the iron kittle, an' stir the moldy soap-grease in. 
Aye ! there 's mixture fer ye, ought to cleanse the world o' sin ; 
Keep fillin' up an' bilin' till it makes a thickened jell, 
Then kiver up the kittle, and let it simmer fer a spell ; 
Talk about your Pears' an' Colgates, your Bouquet's and Cash- 
mere's, 
There 's a standard concentration, 'at has stood the test o' years. 

An' it has its many uses, too, 'sides washin' o' the clothes, 
Ez every boy 'ats made it, remembers well an' knows; 
'Member when you turned the grindstone fer Dad on Saturday, 
How you rubbed it on the spindles to give 'em easy play? 
'Member how you panted an' doubled up your backs. 
When Dad barred down so heavy on the brier-scythe an' axe; 
'Member how you dubbed it on yer rusty old rip-saw, 
When its teeth had lost its settin', an' you could n't push or draw; 
How you scattered it on scrub-days all 'round the kitchen floor, 
Dashed the water from the biler, 'en scrubbed it o'er and o'er? 
How mother 'd git the comforts out about the first o' May, 
An' set ye trompin' in the wash-tub fer one whole blessed day ? 
How the sweat 'ould jes' pour off ye, an' yer face 'ould glow an' 

flush, 
Ez you tromped an' tromped the kivers, which 'ould sqush an' 

sqush an' sqush? 
How the soft soap in the water 'ould wrinkle up an' eat. 
An' come purty nigh a takin' all the skin from off yer feet ? 
How later on, she 'd gether all the fruit jars round about. 
An' set ye bilin' 'em in soap-suds, an' washin' an' rinzin' out? 
Then hang 'em on the palin's, 'bout every other one, 
To get 'em cured for cannin', by exposin' 'em to the sun ? 
No matter what the object, when with dirt you had to cope. 
There wuz nothin' so reliable as old soft soap. 

An' agin, ye might n't think it, but it had a good effect. 

As a moralizin' agent, on some lads you 'd not suspect ; 

Who 'd often tell their parents they 'd jes' been playin' round. 

When they'd all been in a swimmin' two miles or more from 

town ; 
The mother o' Phil Eothrock, who 'd become a Homypath, 
Stopped her Allypathic doses o' the barrel hoop an' lath. 
An' when she ketched him lyin', to his mouth she 'd quick apply 
A spoon or two o' lye soap, to eradicate that lie; 



96 KEMIN1SCE2ST liKYMKS AiND (jlHEK VEKSE 

A truthful model now is Phil, both circumspect and prim, 

But ^t wuz n't far that soapin' do n't know what 'd become o' him ; 

And Phil's ma said to my ma, who 'd used up all the sprouts. 

To cure her son o' lyin', o' which cure she still had doubts, 

"When Jack comes home this evenin', jes' examine of his hair. 

An' if his back is sunburnt, an' other parts been bare ; 

Ef you 've reason 'en to doubt him, jes' try my simple cure, 

It made a man o' Philip, an' will o' him, I 'm sure." 

Well, that wuz jes' what happened, a little while 'fore tea, 

An' 't wuz n't fer that soapin', do n't know what 'd become o' me; 

I, too, became a model, an', at least, fer quite a spell. 

There wuz n't a boy in all 'at town, 'at loved the truth so well; 

Jes' straigthened up from that on, an' resolved to be a man. 

An' git me a perfession; an' live on the truthful plan ; 

First, I thought o' bein' a lawyer, 'en a preacher great an' true. 

But, reflectin' on that soapin', saw at once they would n't do. 

But since then, I 've diskivered, 'at lies are nateral born. 

An' crop out in each person, as ears crop out from corn ; 

Xo matter your perfession, or what your trade may be, 

You 're sure to be a liar, in less or great degree ; 

Jes' tech ye on the dollar, or your perjudice or bias, 

An' you'll very soon exhibit 'at chief trait o' Ananias; 

An' oft disguised is lyin', behind some othel' name; 

Call it flattery or soft-soap, it 's lyin' all the same ; 

An' most people like to give it, ez well ez like to take. 

An' the more you spread the soft-soap, the more the friends you 

make ; 
There is n't a fellow livin', but somewhere in his loft, 
You '11 find a spot by pressin', 'ats jes' a little soft. 
Kind o' soapy-like an' bubbly, an' pertikerlarly weak, 
In havin' people praise him, an' of his greatness speak : 
So, if 3^ou 'd gull the gapers, an' their pocket books 'ould reach, 
All you got to do is run 'em thro' three feet o' common leach ; 
An' if your creed or party, you 'd keep 'em* stand in' by, 
All you got to do is dose 'em with a good strong lie. 

Men have tried to weed out lyin', since creation's dawnin' day, 
But like love, both wise an' unwise, it seems to 've come to stay; 
An' like love, is unaccountable, an' has its many grades, 
An' equally as versatile, in applyin' its different trades; 



SOFT SOAP 



97 



Since it has its place in natur^ en, I can't help but conclude. 
There are certain kinds o^ lyin' has in ^em somethin' good; 
Sich as stories of adventure o' the cheerful, harmless kind, 
An' the tales o' myths an' fairies fer the young expandin' mind ; 
0' the pearly pictured palaces, suspended in the sky, 
'Ats goin' to be our perches, when we grow wings an' fly ; 
Seems our Saints an' our Munchausens an' prevaricatin' Twains, 
Are naterally essential to our wonderin', credulous brains. 
So, God bless the wholesome liars, 'at furnish fiction fer our 

youth. 
This world would n't be fit to live in, if we always spake the 

truth ; 
We 'd become so dull an' serious, so faultless, frigid, nice, 
Our brains 'ould soon be turned to lead, an' our hearts be turned 

to ice. 

But o' all the human reptiles, there 's none so loathin' quite. 

As he who lies to injure, jcs' from envy, gain or spite; 

Or who, with hellish doctrines, glossed with morals, bland and 

mild. 
Will misdirect the reason of a trustin,' wonderin' child : 
Or who, with future promises, o' which they nothin' know, 
Will rob the poor an' ignorant o' their pittance here below ; 
But this frank an' homely story, (kind o' jewel in the rough), 
Has kivered several pages, an' has lasted long enough ; 
Since it 's only common topics left fer poets now to write, 
(Fer all the nice an' spiritual ones have been exhausted quite,) 
I beg the reader's patience, an' sincerely trust an' hope. 
He '11 forgive this unpoetic one, o' old soft soap. 

To the folks who 've used no other, 'cept the perfumed brands an' 

new. 
This story 's meant to show 'em what old-fashioned soap '11 do : 
Well 's to bring back to the memory o' those who 're old an' grey, 
The strenuous experiences o' bo3diood's blessed day; 
When they had to help their mothers do all the household work. 
And suffered dire afflictions, when they 'd run away or shirk ; 
But layin' aside all jestin', the happiest thought to me, 
Wuz, that I helped my mother, tho' oft protestingly ; 
An' lookin' back thro' misty years, in retrospective view, 
I 've wondered how she did the half she used to have to do ; 



98 



REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER YERSE 



Patient life o' sacrifice, o' constant toil an' care, 

Bearin' all our burdens, far more 'n she ought to bear ; 

So, my proudest recollection, tho' at it some may scorn, 

Wuz, when I sed on wash-days, "My arms are bigger 'n yourn", 

An' so, linked in to help her, — ain't ashamed to tell it here, — 

Its soothin' to the conscience, an' has saved me many a tear; . 

An' boy or girl, the smallest souls 'at I know of to-day, 

Are them 'at let their mothers wash, while they dress up or play; 

They 're made o' old pot-metal, 'at has n't any ring, 

They never wuz an' never will be good fer anything, — 

Unless, it 'ould be to give 'em sufficient 'mount o' dope. 

An' use 'em fer material fer Old Soft Soap. 



THE LIVING DEATH 

Since this is the only existence we know, 

Why live for another ? All have their woe. 

Good and ill alike to all states belong. 

No right can there be where there is no wrong. 

If we live again, it will be as here — 

Sunshine and shadow, laughter and tear; 

What thing then, so strange, in this world of strife. 

As the failure of men to live this li-fe?^ 

Millions are striving to live after death. 

Who are hardly alive, while in the breath ; 

Millions, who never make use of the head. 

But living corpses, that walk around dead; 

Or, in half-death existence, find no peace — 

In soul sloth wasting their flickering lease 

Of life — listless, lacking in thought and zeal. 

Ne'er finding a task, based on the ideal; 

Their primitive minds, incased in a creed, 

Or serving the god of lust or of greed, 

Who believe as they're taught, before half-grown. 

With ne'er an original tliought of their own ; 

Who, against all progress blindly rebel. 

And who brand the thinker as — infidel; 

Who're content to live and think for the day, 

Or stand around, to be kicked from the way ; 

Sure, the next worst thing, to being dead and gone, 

Is that of a living oblivion. 



NOTHINGNESS 99 



NOTHIISrGNESS 



What thouglit of nothingness, like being dead? 
Motionless, mouldering in your narrow bed ; 
Lifeless, without either feeling or sense; 
Imprisoned in darkness, utterly dense; 
Powerless even a thought to impart, 
Or even a quiver of the loving heart ; 
This active, nerve-tingling body to keep. 
The posture of silence and endless sleep. 

What but nothingness now, is left to tell 

Of her who was once the conquering belle? 

With what exquisite grace she moved along, 

Thrilled with ambition and soul stirring song; 

The head so majestic, and carried high. 

And glowing with thought the scintillant eye; 

Pulsing with passion the bosom and lips. 

And the beauteous limbs to the very tips; 

I'^ow ghastly and shrunken that radiant form. 

That beaming, bright eye — sweet food for the worm; 

And relish the rarest, that thought-thrilled brain. 

That had wakened music's divinest strain; 

And morsel most tempting, that sunken cheek. 

That blushed the hot love, the heart feared to speak; 

And diet the daintiest, that honeyed tongue, 

On whose slightest speech, fond lovers had hung; 

Or that withered breast, which chastely arose. 

Like beauteous drifts of December's snows; 

What of all is now left to glad or to bless. 

Of that Phidian form, but — nothingness? 

And what is there left that the eye may scan 
Of proud, presumptive, imperious man? 
What a foul, repulsive, uncanny thing. 
That hideous skull, of him who was king ! 
Of the statesman sedate, who senates thrilled, 
And men's judgments moved, as oft as he willed ; 
The poet, the warrior, the savant and judge, 
What now ? but the merest frothing and fudge ; 



100 KKMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Each crumbling to mold, commingling with dust. 

Diffusing with gases, and lingering with rust, 

Till all vestige of life, all memory, and thought. 

Shall have disappeared into pitiless naught; 

Converted at last to vapor and tears. 

And whirled round the world, thro^ the eternal years. 



WAITING TO DIE 

The tired consumptive, haggard, pale. 

Creeps slowly, feebly by ; 
A year ago, he was stout and hale. 

And bright his beaming eye; 
Erect he stood all men before. 
His laugh was like a ringing roar, 
And maiden glances scanned him o'er, — 
But now his laugh is heard no more. 

He's only heard to sigh; , 

All things before him shrink and fade, 
A shadow hand seems on him laid. 
And even old time friends evade; 
He careth not for sun nor shade. 

He's waiting just to die. 

Oh ! what so sad in all this life 

As hopeless, human blight ? 
This body framed for storm and strife, 

A withered, sickened sight; 
Now, gone the red that in him blushed, 
jSTow slacked the step that onward rushed. 
And stilled the song that joyous gushed, 
Ambition, hope and spirit crushed. 

All toppled from their height ; 
But such is life. Death e'er stands nigh ; 
With our first laugh is linked the sigh ; 
Tho' young or old, or low or high. 
All wait from day to day to die — 

To pass from light to night. 



HUMAN WOKS HIP 101 



THE LAST PHASE 



Ah ! the weakness, the nausea, the cough and pain ! 

The withered, pallid feature; 
The shadowy resemblance of former self, — 

A ghostly, ghastly creature! 
Life's dearest ambitions and loves dethroned; 
By the major part of friends disowned ; 
The world indifferent — by few bemoaned, — 

A pestilence in the city; 
An object more oft to be feared and shunned. 

Than looked upon with pity. 
Oh ! what so repellant to human sight. 
As this God-like form, when taking its flight, 
Eepulsive, uncanny, wasted by blight; 
Aye, what so hideous as when grim death. 

The soul from the body is thrusting; 
The rattle and gasp to retain the breath, — 

Life clinging still, and trusting ; 
The pallor, the chill and the long drawn sigh, 
The upturned, sunken and glassy eye, — 
Think of aught, if you can, beneath the sky, 

So damnably disgusting. 
The last remembrance, so it seemeth to me. 
Of all life's visions, the loveliest should be; 
Since out of this life, and against our will. 
We're compelled to go to the grave dark and still. 
Sweet Beauty 'twould seem, should soften our woe, 
And dying — make us more beautiful grow; 
With never a feature touched by decay, 
While the spirit, specter like, drifts away, 
Like thistle-down, in the still of the day. 



HUMAN WORSHIP 

LoNG^ long before dogmas, and long before creeds, 
In love, men and women found most of their needs ; 
Still, the only religion, below or above. 
That is worth human worship is human love. 



102 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



A FEEE PRESCRIPTION 

The very best cures I know in my line, 

Are good humor, pure air, and bright sunshine; 

You may pile wealth high as ever you will, 

But a hoard of good health is better still ; 

The minute you breathe, that minute you cry ; 

When you cease to breathe, that minute you die ; 

More, then, upon air than on meat and drink, 

Mankind must depend to live and to think; 

And more upon light than upon the dark. 

Must depend the glow of the vital spark; 

You can sing away, laugh away half your ills, 

And two-thirds of all of your doctor's bills; 

The best antiseptics are those least dear, — 

Sunlight and ozone and gobs of good cheer; 

Then all of you chronics at once commence 

A diet and dosage of common sense; 

Your bodies were never made to be drugged, 

Nor your brains with faith and fear to be plugged ; 

Do n't follow off each of the spiritual bands. 

That heal you by hoo-doo, and "laying on hands" 

Or by "absent treatment" effect a cure. 

For a certain sum in advance, to be sure; 

If you're half-way smart, your faith you'll focus. 

On Nature, rather than hocus pocus. 

And if to a colic you chance are inclined, 

You '11 not imagine it 's "all in your mind" : 

Nor stick to a cure, even when you're dying. 

Just because the treatment is Eddy-fying. 

Sure, there's no disease so easily spread, 

As that which is known as "fool-in-the-head." 



Remember all spiritual doctrines thrive. 
As by physical cures they keep alive; 
As they mystify and muddle the brain 
With the charlantry they miraculously feign; 
As they make a cripple walk off with his bed, 
And even the dead rise up from the dead ; 



A FREE PRESCRIPTION 103 

And the blind perceive, who're blind from birth. 
And other cures, never heard of on earth; 
But as slowly men learn these do not apply 
To present afflictions, they "open an eye"; 
And backward to Nature, like children return. 
And begin, all over, their lessons to learn. 

Oh ! there's doctors o' souls and doctors o' drugs. 

Unprincipled quacks and reverend thugs. 

Who presume our bodies and souls to treat 

As they pepper and salt the things they eat; 

Who tamper with health and the mystic mind. 

As with the watches they carelessly wind. 

Ignorant of the laws of being and sin. 

As they are of the wondrous works therein. 

Who, of every superstition and ache, 

A commercialism deliberately make; 

And nostrums both sacred and deadly sell. 

Poisoning the body and soul as well; 

But doctors there are, and teachers there be. 

Inspired by their love of humanity, 

Who scorn to inscribe on the plastic brain 

Aught but fact and truth made certain and plain ; 

Who, cautious with drug, more cautious with knife, 

Reverently enter the chamber of life; 

Who approach the body, as a thing divine. 

E'en as virtue approaches a sacred shrine; 

With a conscience pure, and a serious fear 

Of wronging the soul that is tenanted here. 

All hail ! these masters of science sublime. 
And teachers who brighten the track of time; 
Who, neither for glory, nor selfish gain. 
Enlighten the world and dissipate pain; 
But away, I say, to the innermost shades. 
And the hottest hole of habitable Hades, 
The doctors divine and the quacks who prey. 
On the faiths and fears of the wretched to-day. 
Let men come to know that freedom from sins. 
And disease, with love and breeding begins; 



104 REMINISCENT KIIYMES AND OTHEK VEKSK 

And that further progress can only be made 
As science directs and environments aid; 
That health on the laws of Xature depends, 
And our wise adaptation to their ends; 
That morals and goodness on justice rest. 
And that human affection 's the final test. 
First and last, from this, you should not depart. 
Let sunniest thouglit illumine your heart. 
And laughter and song and clieerfulness be. 
More catching than measles and misery; 
Banish 3^our worry, for that is what kills. 
And you'll cure yourself of most of your ills ; 
Get up from your knees, throw your pills away. 
And go out and drink in the glory of day ; 
Just mix and take freely this elixir divine, 

TGood Humor, 
]^ , aa < Pure Air, and 

(Bright Sunshine. 



ON LOOKING AT A SKELETON. 

"Who''d ever imagine such a shape grotesque. 

Such rattling old running-gears. 
Had kindled with love, and sparkled with thought. 

And burst into song and tears? 
Had moved along with voluptuous grace. 
With passion beaming from body and face. 

And thrilled witli courage and fears? 
Who'd fancy it rounded with exquisite curves, 

By the dimpled flesh of a maid ? 
AVith the flush of a blush on her rosy check, 
A rout of a pout from lips red with pique, 
A dash of a flash from e3'es that love speak. 

And her head with glory arrayed ? 
Wlio'd dream it was once a modest bride, 
Admiring herself in her naked pride, 
Bkisliing with conscious sense of excess, 
Of her own superior loveliness? 



THE FULL ROUND MAN 105 

WhoM dream that above that arch-ribbed chest. 
Had billowed for years a beauteous breast. 
And 'neath it had glowed the conquering fires 
Of a love that had raged with hot desires ? 
That those spindling stems were shapely arms. 
Which had welcomed love to a world of charms ? 
Or that jagged strip of disjointed spine. 
Is all that remains of a waist divine ? 
Or that graceless bone with projecting tips, 
Was once the support of motherly hips. 
Curved into such proportionate art. 

As to captivate the sculptor's heart? 

Who'd dream that those creaking, shapeless shanks, 

Al ith many a beau had played love pranks. 

Pulsing with passion, sensuous and warm. 

The perfect expi-ession of perfect form, 

Whose thrill in the waltz, and gracefnl'sway, 

Had swept men's senses with them away? 

Alas! Alas ! must each lover sigh, 

That a thing so beautiful should die; 

Alas ! Alas ! of all that I name, 

A^aught is left except that hideous frame 



THE FULL KOUXD ^lAN 

TiJEKE 's many a man the world has known. 

Would scorn to tell a lie ; 
And when, at last, he passed from men. 

They praised him to the sky: 
Fudge ! such men are hardly half a man : 

The full round man is he 
AVho not only scorns to tell a lie. 

But sets the chained truth free; 
AVho 's not content with doing right. 

But for the right will shout; 
AVho '11 sift the fact from out the false. 

And put the lie to rout ; 
Who, having learned the eternal truth, 

Will boldly speak it out, 



106 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VEESE 



THE COT AMONG THE MANSIONS 

Along a palaced highway, 

An humble cottage stood. 
Which seemed at first all out of place. 

In that fine neighborhood; 
But over all the spacious lawn. 

Were shrubs and flowers rare. 
And ne'er a place gave evidence. 

Of such artistic care. 

The vines that draped the lowly home, 

A picture made complete; 
'Twas just a bit of Paradise, 

And brightened all the street; 
Tho' first it seemed so out of place. 

Among the mansions tall. 
Such was its beauty and its grace. 

It grandest seemed of all. 

So, too, poor heart may you appear. 

Thro' poverty unkind, 
If you but cultivate the flowers 

Of character and mind; 
You, too, may stand among the great. 

The wealthy and the wise. 
The sweetest soul, the brightest light. 

To loving, human eyes. 



SIMPLICITY 

Communion close with nature's ways, 

Leads straight to thought profound ; 
Much longer are the sun's bright rays. 

That sink in lowly ground; 
The highest thought and eloquence. 

The easiest is of reach ; 
And he's most wise in other's eyes, 

AVho, simplest is, in speech. 



HELPIISIG THE BIKDS ALOisG 

Mysterious, stupid, dull, sedate. 

Some masters are in verse, 
AVho credit get for genius great. 

But who could n't write much worse 
No matter what may be the thought, 

Be it music, verse or art, 
There first must be simplicity, 

To reach both mind and heart. 



107 



HELPIN'G THE BIRDS ALONG 

Early one still summer morning. 

Just at the break of day, 
I awoke and sought the cradle 

AVhere my sweet girlie lay; 
But the nest was bare and empty, 

No chick lay cuddled there; 
''Ah! Where's the little birdie flown? 

She's hiding here somewhere." 

In every room I go searching. 

But ne'er a chick can find; 
Then alarmed I loudly call her, 

When clear upon the wind. 
Her voice floats in from the garden 

Soft as the morning breeze. 
Ah! there she stands in her nightie. 

Singing beneath the trees. 

^'Wliat in the world are you doing? 

Playing 'Babe in the wood ?' " 
I said, as out thro' the door-way, 

I rushed to where she stood. 
''AYell, Papa, they waked me a singing. 

An' I didn't fink it wrong. 
So I des turn out to join 'em. 

And help the birdies along." 



108 KEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Sing on, then, my little darling, 

Sing with the birds so gay. 
That make for you sweet music. 

At breaking of the day; 
List to all of Nature's voices. 

And join them with your song; 
In human love you'll larger grow. 

As you help the birds along. 



THE JOY FOREVER 

Beauty is the poetry that hidden lies 

In each existent thing; the charmed spirit 

Of w^i'sdom, fanc}' , truth and every good ; 

In all things omnipresent. Nature's first 

And last expressed delight. Beyond the seen. 

Beyond the search of keenest microscope. 

In worlds atomic, and of myriad forms. 

E'en there she glows. In garb, both fair and fine, 

Nature's severest shapes she bright arrays; 

To her, all primal forms evolve or tend. 

And naught perfected is, of tint or shape. 

Till bright with beauty crowned. In varied dress. 

Of vernal green, she robes the somber world ; 

And ne'er content she rests, till rock and plain. 

And wood and waste are flecked with flowery life; 

Nature's ultimate aim — art's patient task, 

The one eternal universal joy. 

To beauty then, enchantress fair of life, 

That makes it worth the living, e'en wlien love, 

Wealtli, friends, ambition long have passed away, 

Tlirow wide the portals of thy soul; else thou. 

Behind, in rude existence e'er will grope. 

Ne'er conscious of life's better, brighter part. 

Clothe all thy sterner self and coarser thought. 

E'en as the velvet moss the savage rock; 

Or as -violets fleck the woodland waste; 

Or as ivy drapes the ruined tower. 

Thus softened down each rage and hate, thou'lt be. 

Thyself, at last, exultant nature's aim. 

When beauty bright hath made her home in thee. 



109 



THE LAW OF COMPENSATION 

If the poor and humble drudge that we. 

The thinkers, have food and raiment. 
In return, for wisdom, freedom and truth. 

To us, they become the claimant ; 
'Tis genius begins all progress and wealth, 

*Tis labor alone completes them ; 
But strange to say, each pulls his own way. 

And greed steps in and defeats them. 

Still, Nature, apparently partial, is just, 

Tho' uneven her distribution; 
From greatest toil come greatest rewards. 

And thus she makes restitution. 
Toil is the law ; be it of head or hand ; 

Each the other makes happy and free ; 
No labor is hard, and no time is long, 

When we aim at eternitv. 



BABY'S LAUGH AND MAMMA'S EYES 

My baby's laugh and mamma's glad eyes 
Are angel visions from twilight skies; 
Going or coming at morning or night 
They hover about me — =sweet spirits of light — 
Urging me forward on life's tedious way. 
Speeding me homeward at close of the day; 
Ever to comfort, to cheer and surprise — 
Baby's sweet laugh, and mamma's glad eyes. 

'Twas those dear eyes that drew our hearts into one 
In the days of our childhood ere care had begun — 
That led to love-letters and kisses and vows — 
That made me a husband, and her a sweet spouse — 
And out of this music of union of souls. 
The tenderest note of all melody rolls; 
'T is the laugh of my baby, in her angel-like guise, 
Eeflecting the love-look in mamma's dream eyes. 



110 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

But no music so sweet, nor picture so fine 

As the laugh and the eyes of these sweethearts of mine; 

Like fairy vigils they chase through my heart, 

Compelling all sorrow and pain to depart; 

They explore every nook — these quaint little elves — 

And declare it shall be only a home for themselves ; 

But words can not tell the whole nor the half, 

About mammals witch eyes and baby's cute laugh. 



BABY'S GOXE AWAY 

Xow FOR a spell of quiet, and of comfort choice and rare, 
For Baby's gone on a visit, and I'll go on a tear, 
Thro' quaint and curious volumes, in which I find delight, 
And with seer and sage I'll revel, and feast me full to-night. 

The dolls, the blocks and the pictures have all been put away, 
AVith the darned-est mess and litter, I 've seen for many a day ; 
There's a semblance now of order, so I'll light a fresh cigar. 
And proceed at once to finish that last account of the war. 

And then I'll take up Plutarch, thro' Plato- glance again, 
Then trace Egyptian symbols, and the mystic gods of men; 
And I'll pen some inspiration, some brilliant thought portray, 
There's none to raise old Xed to-night, for Baby's gone away. 

Oh ! the luxury of silence, of acquaintance with yourself. 
E'en if the price is absence of your little girlie elf; 
But of course I love her dearly, and miss the little tease. 
And even now, I feel her, clambering up my knees. 

And again she straight commands me, "Des' lay 'at book right 

down. 
An' entertain your girlie, 'fore she goes to Shut-Eye-Town; 
I'se mad and zasperated, cause you always read and write. 
And when I want you play with me, you want me out o' sight." 

"An' when I ask you questions, you say — 'Bunch 'em ! Bunch 

'cm please !' 
But I won't bunch my questions, an' I won't be called a tease; 
I'd rather have a play-mate than a poet in our house, 
Plnymai(>s are snmpin' u>efiil, an' not quiet like a mouse." 



laby's go2sE away 111 

"No ! Sir ! It's not near my bedtime, and Wink an' Blink ain't 

tired ; 
At's what Mamma keeps a askin', till it gets me all perspired ; 
Des when I wants to have a romp, my story books read through, 
It^s then I'm hustled off to bed — a pretty how-dye-do !" 

"Now, Papa, here 's my ^Esop, I like it best yon see ; 

It's fnn to read o' animals 'at talk like you an' me ; 

Des read the stories ever}^ one, an' do not miss a leaf, 

An' 'en we'll dance the cake-walk, an' hide-the-handkerchief." 

"An' 'en we'll have a game o' tag, an' scream, an' jump, an' run, 
'Nen play hide-and-seek, an' blind-man — oh my ! won't it be fun ? 
Let's hurry now, 'fore Mamma comes — =she's sure to say, 'I fink. 
There's too much 'citement goin' on, for little Wink an' Blink." 

"You'll never get to sleep to-night ; you've surely romped enough ; 
Such rackets you two children make, at playin' blind-man's 

buff !" 
Ah ! there she is, an' that means, ^Come ! get ready now for 

bed !' 
Oh, pshaw ! I'se des' expectin' this, — I want to play instead." 

And then comes hugs and kisses, and to bed my girlie goes. 
While I re-light my old cigar, and rattled thoughts compose; 
Soon again I'm lost in Plato — a deep hush fills my room, 
When fresh upon my startled ears, a voice breaks thro' the 
gloom — 

"Oh, Papa ! I'se havin' the hardest time, tryin' to get to sleep ; 
I see all kinds o' animals — big wolves and bears an' sheep ; 
There's a great big octopus out here, 'ats come up from the sea. 
An' a horny owl, which cries, *Whoo ! Whoo !' an' stares right 
straight at me." 

And then a scream breaks on the air, a lengthened wail of woe, 
And tho' I know it's all pretense, I drop my book and go; 
And chase away the wolves and bears, with threat'ning cane and 

shout. 
Then raise the bed-room window, and the horny owl drive out. 



112 REMINISCENT RHYMES AKD OTHER VERSE 

And 'neath my feet I crush to death the monster of the sea. 
While Baby straightens up in bed, and joins in hearty glee ; 
"Xow, since the animals have gone, — the wolves and bears and 

sheep. 
Just shut up tight, both Wink and Blink, and go right straight 

to sleep." 

"But Papa, please sing me a song, just one before you go ;" 
What shall it be, my darling dear ? "Sweet an' low ! Sweet an' 

low !" 
I am well aware my singing would ne'er create a stir, 
'Twould paralyze DeReszke, but 'tis music sweet to her. 

"That song was very sweet. Papa, 5^our voice is good I think, 
But it didn't close up both my eyes, — it only closed up 'Wink'; 
I wish you'd sing 'Sweet Alice Bolt', an' 'Old Eed, White and 

Blue', 
An' then, 'My Country 'Tis of Thee', so Blink '11 close up too." 

"An' 'en please sing 'Poor Xellie Gray', an' 'Lady do not Weep', 
An' 'en I think they'll loth stay closed, an' Baby '11 go to sleep." 
So I hum and hum these old songs, which strangely thrill her so. 
And off we sail for Dream Town, as o'er the waters we go. 

To the little country church-yard, where they laid Sweet Alice 

down, — 
Next, where the starry banner waved high o'er the shell swept 

town ; 
On thro' the land of Pilgrim's Pride, to the Old Kentucky Shore, 
Where pickaninnies sing and play beside the cabin door. 

At last both Wink and Blink are closed — the busy brain's at rest. 
Softly I kiss the smile swept face, and tuck her in her nest ; 
Then back to my books again I go, my stump again re-light, — 
(All this is not a rare event, for it's pulled off ev'ry night). 

Into Plato and old Plutarch I'll plunge me deep again, 
Then trace Egyptian symbols, and the mystic gods of men; 
And I'll pen some inspiration, but hold, what is the time? 
I swear it 's nearly twelve o'clock, and I 've been penning rhyme 



THE tkiu:mph of reason 



113 



The whole of the blessed ev'ning, about my precious dear, 
And going thro' her games again, the same as when she's here ; 
I'd planned for a spell of quiet, free from romp and play. 
But found her Just as much at home, as before she went away. 



THE IMPEISONED MIXD 

To BE content with childhood's faith 

So prone's the human mind. 
To the higher lifts of earth and sk}^ 

It chooses to be blind; 
Confined within a narrow creed. 

And hugging close its bond, 
It seeketh not the wide research 

That reaches out beyond. 

'Tis only when the birds take flight. 

Their souls expand and sing; 
The signal fire-fly in the night. 

Shines only on the wing; 
And so the human mind at rest, 

Ne'er soars, nor sings, nor shines; 
Nor in the realms of bright research 

Great Nature's God divines. 



THE TRIUMPH OF SEASON 

If a Huler there be of Heaven, 

A God that directs us here. 
He must approve the homage of reason. 

Rather than of faith and fear ; 
His omnipotence thro' thought reflect. 
And man by law and wisdom direct. 

Rather than by faith and fear ; 
No more would He an atom misguide 

Than He would a starry sphere ; 
Then hasten the day when His purpose 

E'en the ignorant may detect; 
When men will accept nothing ancient 

That reason does not respect. 



11^ KEMmiSCE^'T KHyM*:S AND oTHEli YEKSE 



KICKIN' UP DUST 

Never so happy in my life, 
Never so free o' care an' strife, 
As when a boy, alone I'd hike 
Way down along the dusty pike, 
Absnrbin' nature 'long the wa}^, 
Drinkin' in the glory o' day; 
Makin' tracks all round about, 
Heels together an' toes turned out; 
Imagination runnin' free. 
Myself jes' crowds o' company; 
Ercctin' castles, dreamin' dreams. 
Only a step back now it seems ; 
Air so fragrant from medder an' hill, 
Stop now an' then to breathe my fill; 
Clouds like spirits driftin' through 
Far skies o' pure translucent blue. 
And all the earth in gayest dress, 
0' green an' flowery loveliness. 

Everything seemin' without a care; 
Swallows skimmin' the crystal -air. 
Cat-bird, yaller-hammer an' jay, 
Callin' to me the whole o' the way; 
Mother ducks leadin' their fluffy broods 
Down to the pond, at edge o' the woods ; 
Nothin' in all o' the baby line. 
So innocent an' soft an' fine. 
Peacock screechin' on a distant fence, 
]\Iakcs up in looks, what he lacks in sense; 
Jes' like some folks, 'at I've heerd toll, 
AVhose brains all go to dressin' well; 
Sheep a fleckin' the rollin' lea, 
Lcokin' like white-caps out at sea; 
Big horned ram a' starin' so fierce, 
^Make myself jes' a little sceerce; 
Cattle strollin', grazin' their full, 
Hoss-flies stingin' the back o' the bull, 
(Git the jiggers if he don't look out. 
In a month or so, or thereabout;) 




Brown toad into the rag weed darts, 
(Leave him alone for fear o' warts:) 
Chimney showin^ where the bull-frog digs, 
Fence corner full o^ sow an' pigs, 
Babbit a skittin' across the road. 
Tumble-bug trundlin' his heavy load. 
Squirrel a chatter in' up a tree, 
Jes' as sasFy as he can be, 
115 



117 



Spittin' upon his nimble paws, 
Eyin^ me close as he wipes his jaws; 
Blacksnake sunnin^ along a rail, 
Six-feet-six from his head to tail, 
As quick as lightnin^ there's a fight, 
And he's either dead, or out o' sight; 
Snake feeder skimmin' the shallow pond, 
Calamus growin' jes' beyond, 
Elders wavin' tlieir snowy plumes, 
Bees a buzzin' 'mong clover blooms — 
Oh ! where in all the world '11 ye find. 
So many charms to please the mind. 
To 'waken interest, the fancy strike. 
As in strollin' down the old turn-pike? 

King-bird chasin' a crow in the sk}^, 
Keepin' a peckin' away at his eye; 
Buzzards circlin' high in a ring, 
Eeastin' their eyes on some dead thing; 
Eain crows preachin' like prophets vain. 
Half the time lyin' about the rain; 
Wood-pecker drummin' an old dead beech, 
Killdee keepin' jes' out o' my reach; 
Hawk perched high on a' old tree top. 
Sight your cane, an' you'll see him flop ; 
Ring-dove cooin' her mournful coo. 
Strain o' sadness, 'at'll pierce you through; 
Sap-sucker, tail up, circlin' a tree. 
Butterflies — every variety. 
Grass-hopper chirpin' — squeeze him a bit,- 
Make him spit his tobaccer spit ; 
Woods invitin' so fresh an' clean. 
Dogwood blossoms speckin' the green. 
May apples bunched in dingled nooks. 
Paw-paw thickets fringin' the brooks ; 
Wild roses revellin' all around. 
Air jes' burdened with sweetest sound. 
Breezes blusterin' thro' towerin' oaks, 
EufHin' up their gay green cloaks ; 
Quakin'-asp, when there aint no breeze. 
Keeps the same a flutteriii' its leaves ; 



118 REiQNISCEXT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

AYind siftin' through the crab-apple tree, 
Bearin' its perfumes straight to me; 
Eed-bird perched on a red-bud spray. 
Its red blendin' with his, so gay, 
Ejiowin^ he made a picture rare, 
An' whistled, so 'at I'd see him there; 
Song an' blossom an' sun an' shade. 
Everything jes' fer me seemed made; 
The whole o' nature dressed to my taste. 
Whole gobs o' glory goin' to waste; 
So full o' happiness, felt I must 
Jes' go to kickin' up the dust. 

Kicked it up where it deepest laid. 

Then looked to see the cloud I'd made; 

The years have come and gone since then. 

An' dust I've raised in eyes of men; 

An' they, with equal liberty. 

Have flung a lot o' dust at me ; 

A privilege, however small. 

Is only just, when free to all; 

An' so, let others likewise stray. 

Raisin' the dust along life's wa}^; 

Lettin' both soul and spirit out. 

In kick an' whoop an' joyous shout ; 

The world thus keeps from growing less. 

By being charged with glad excess; 

'T is thus the springtime naked, lean. 

Exultant bursts in vernal green; 

'Tis thus the brook, that's long been dry. 

Will sudden flood the valley nigh ; 

'Tis thus the peak, from long repose. 

In splendid terror overflows, 

An' hurls its flres to starry heights. 

An' city, vale and ocean lights; 

Thus nature gives us endless change, 

An' charms us with the new an' strange ; 

Excess o' force keeps in reserve. 

When from its path the world 'ould swerve 

Likewise, is thought endowed the same; 

When at a stand-still, stagnant, tame. 



119 



It bursts anew with fancies bright. 
An' glows as from some mountain height; 
When chained to party, bound to creed. 
It's like a field that's gone to weed; 
When wealth controls, an' fashion sways. 
An' back the selfish turn their gaze. 
Then genius from some hmnble cot, 
Turns forward the low tide o' thought ; 
Sluggish the nature; dull an' blunt. 
That never pushes to the front. 
An' down life's turn-pike, now an' then, 
Eaises dust in the eyes o' men ; 
The human soul must push ahead. 
It can't progress and live half -dead; 
For all excess o' what we know. 
Depends upon brain over-flow; 
On souls enthused an' minds that dare. 
And fearless, each new truth declare; 
Who, in their own heels put their trust. 
An' go to kickin' up the dust. 

Jes' what the future life '11 be, 

WVll likely see what we shall see; 

It may be true, as some declare. 

All things are perfect over there; 

It may be true, for all we know. 

The rivers there do n't overflow ; 

That day is just the same as night. 

An' mountains do n't belch forth their light ; 

That seas are calm, without a roar. 

An' storms ne'er break upon the shore ; 

No autumn's gold, no winter's sheen. 

But all things dressed in livin' green; 

An' youth, likewise, an' prime an' age. 

An' thought, all levelled to one stage; 

No trees to grow, no toil, no trade — 

Mansions an' turn-pikes ready made. 

Highways shinin', spotless an' white, 

Not e'en a speck o' dust in sight; 

Nothin' to venture, nothin' to do, 

But sing, an' thro' the air ski-doo ; 



120 liE^UNISCENT KHYMES AAD UillJ:ii VKliSE 

'No pushin^ ahead, nor sayin^ yer say, 
ISTor raisin' dust along the way. 

If this is how things there '11 be, 
I'm sure it won't be heaven to me ; 
For what to me were crown an' throne. 
If I could n't have some say o' my own ? 
I think I'd ruther want to go 
AVhcre thoughts cut loose an' overflow; 
Jes' 'pears to me, instid, I'd like 
To saunter down the old turn-pike, 
Kickin' the dust up as I went, 
Givin' my fancies fullest vent. 
Charmed with the sights on either side, 
Yale dressed up like a blushin' bride, 
AVoods stretchin' green across the plain, 
Fringin' the checkered fields o' grain; 
Path pintin' down to the ol' swimmin' hole, 
(Memory o' which, keeps thrillin' my soul;) 
Bob White perched on a tall fence stake, — 
Well, as me, likes the dust to make; 
Dog-wood out an crab over there, 
Scatterin' its perfume on the air; 
Red-bird perched on a red-bud spray. 
Its red blendin' with his so gay: 
Air jes' burdened with sweetest sound, 
Wild flowers revellin' all around; 
Each purlin' brook, an' song an' tree, 
An' whisperin' shade invitin' me; 
Back again to this beautiful earth, 
Back where being an' mind had birth; 
Joinin' nature with song an' shout, 
Lettin' my burstin' feelin's out. 
So full o' glory, agin I must, 
Jes' go to kickin' up the dust. 



WHEN? 
When science and faith become reconciled,- 

A claim we 're constantly hearing, — 
'T will be as science directs mankind, 

And faith is fast disappearing. 



121 



FINDIN' EACH OTHEE OUT 

"Good mornin' ! Neighbor Johnson, what je ponderin' over now ? 
Seldom seed ye so abstracted, an' so serious like, I vow; 
Yer scythe upturned an' restin' ycr chin on both yer hands, 
Yield o' hay all right? Taxes worryin'? Troubles comin' in 

bands?'*' 
"Why, good mornin' ! Xeighbor Jinkins, did n't see ye comin' 

along; 
No, yer ruther off on gnessin', nothin' pertic'lar goin' wrong; 
Wusn't thinkin' 'bout the taxes, nor worry in' 'bout yield o' hay, 
Jes' figgerin' why some folks want all others to thinlc thar way." 

"Ha ! Ha ! must ha' been a salesman round tryin' to sell a ma- 
chine ; 
Er one o' them polished gentlemen, 'at deals in goods 'ats green ;" 
"Xaw ! Worse 'n 'at ! polerticians, preachers, doctors o' diff'rent 

schools ; 
Every one o' them presumin' 'at every one else is fools ; 
'Stonishin' how many folks 'stid o' 'tendin' to thar own affairs. 
Stock up with big opinions, an' 'en go to peddlin' thar wares ; 
An' ye'd think by all thar spoutin', an' discharge o' gab an' say. 
The w^orld 'ould go to the bow-wows, ef it didn't trek off thar 
way." 

"Why, Joe Johnson, ye surprise me, the way ye pherloserphize ; 
Gittin' yer teeth cut, aint ye? Beginnin' to open yer eyes; 
Hev thought myself consid'rable along that very line; 
Do n't alwuz do to 'spress yerself, but, I've some thoughts 'at are 

mine; 
Now, thar's the distracted meetin's, each a getherin' in the youth. 
An' every sect at cross-swords — each claimin' to have the truth ; 
D'ye think it likely, Johnson, 'at men 'ould doctrinize an' pray, 
Ef thar wusn't an' easy livin' in gittin' folks to think thar way," 

"Ye've got me guessin', Jinkins ! Knowed you now fer forty 

years. 
An' never 'sposed but what ye thought 'at preachin's all it 'pears ; 
Hev thought myself how opposite folks 'ould reason an' agree, 
Ef they knowed what each wuz thinkin', fer a dead sure certainty ; 



122 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Ef each but knew each other's mind, ez well's he knows his own, 
Thar'd be less o' thinkin' in silence, an' talkin' in undertone; 
An' ef each 'ould speak out freely, an' 'ould up an' say his sa}^ 
Thar'd be lots 'ould quit the business, gittin' folks to think thar 
way. 

"Thar's the office-seekers, Jinkins, from Eepublicans to Pops, 
'Ould git knocked out from under 'em, their very strongest props ; 
An' thar's the doctors all a clashin', with cures o' diff'rent kind. 
Some 'at doses up yer stomach, an' some 'at doses up yer mind. 
AVho treat all kind o' ailin's, from teethin' to sin an' care — 
One cures yer 'pendix with a knife, an' 'tother with faith an' 

prayer, 
Hev come ter the conclusion, Jinkins, lots o' people dyin' to-day, 
'Cause thar only style o' thinkin' is some other person's way. 

"An' thar's the lawyers, Jinkins, who take all 'at they can rake ; 
Whose success depends on beatin' the very laws they make; 
An' thar's the judges, Jinkins, who the laws can easy switch, 
Who've one kind f er the poor folk, an' another fer the rich ; 
An' thar's our public sarvants from the President clar down. 
To the office o' post-master and the mayor o'- the town, 
AVho cut a splurge at 'pearin' to be runnin' things thar way, 
AVhen half the time they're doin' jes' as thar bosses say." 

"Put it thar, Joe Johnson ! Been a long time findin' ye out ! 

Alwuz seemed ye knowed a lot, ye never talked about; 

x\n' from this I'm led to reckon 'at tliar's others jes' like us, 

Who're doin' some quiet thinkin', while the speechifiers fuss; 

0' course, thar's some brains 'ats superior, an' honest I suppose. 

An' it 's only human natur' to be proud o' what one knows, 

An' it's nateral to tell it, but look out, look out ! I say, 

Per the man who makes his livin' gittin folks to think his way." 

"Ye're shoutin' now, Jim Jinkins, with them sentiments I agree; 
Ef a man is good, his faith's all right, no matter what it be. 
Each man unto himself's a law, er at least it should be so, 
An' he won't wear another's brand, ef he knows ernough ter know, 
Thar's only one fixed principle, one true impartial plan, 
Per mcasurin' human bein's, an' that's — '\ man's a man'; 



A MANSION FAIR 



123 



Op^nin' yer mouth an^ swallerin' what the quacks o' all kinds say, 
Aint a gwine ter git ye started in an independent way. 

Thar's lots o' people, Jinkins, ye kin see 'em round about, 
Who, like us, suspect each other, an' are findin' each other out ; 
Why, they used to git converted every winter years ago. 
An' lit'rally lived on medicine, o' the patent brands, ye know; 

'Ould chase off to each speakin' — by their party stood and swore 

But the places then 'at knew 'em, do n't know 'em any more ; 
Ye kin tell 'em by their silence, an' the caution they display. 
In keepin' folks from knowin' they're thinkin' a diif'rent way." 

^^Yes ! Yes ! many a time I've noticed, same as you have, neigh- 
bor Joe, 

Sich folks are serious thinkin', when on old fads they go slow; 

It's laughable to watch 'em — 'shamed o' thoughts they used to 
own. 

But af eared to speak the new ones, except in undertone; 

And we may as well confess it, thar "shoes '11 fit ourselves, 

Fer what hev we been doin' but hidin' up in the shelves ? 

Wall ! I have ter be a movin', so go ahead an' clip yer hay ; 

Think a darn sight more o' ye, since I larned you think my way." 



A MANSION FAIR 

Oh ! a mansion far more bright have I 

Than gold could ever give; 
A mansion fair, not made by hands — 
On memory's mount it shining stands 
O'er-looking fancy's fairest lands. 

Where loves my soul to live ; 
Of beauteous dreams its walls are wrought, 
And filled throughout with treasured thought, 

That naught can take away ; 
Nor poverty, nor cares, nor pains. 
Can make me poor while it remains 

My soul's abode each day ; 
Aye, none, entranced by thought's sweet spell, 
But in a palace bright may dwell. 



124 BEMINISCE2sT liHYMES AND OTHER TERSE 



ANGLING 



V/hen men for nothing else are fib, 

But idling, dreaming, wishing, 
And work they shirk, like any Turk, 

They'll spend their lives a fishing; 
And others worn with business cares. 

And needing recreation, 
Think naught ?o fine as hook and line. 

And so, spend their vacation. 

There's something vicious in the sport. 

When just for sport — of angling; 
To see the lurch of the frightened perch. 

From the cruel hook a dangling; 
As fierce the fight, as great the pain. 

In lowly life as human; 
Would men of heart the pain impart. 

Could fish shriek like a woman? 



STIRPICULTUEE 

E'er uncertain that nation's arrival 

At the goal of all greatness — Truth, 
While parent and scliool play the part of the fool. 

In teaching untrutlis to its youth: 
AVho keep hidden that knowledge most vital, — 

Our own reproduction of kind, 
And with ne'er a concern, out on the world turn. 

The unprepared, wondering mind. 

Witli the vicious their senses are blighted. 

E'er life's beautiful story they learn, — 
That to repeat our best, is the human test. 

And Nature's supremest concern; 
Insecure is the nation that faileth — 

Its offspring with health to cndower; 
Half bred, half fed, and living half dead. 

Must still be the half of its power. 



A MINT JULIP 125 

AAVve learned to grow partisans, bigots, 

We've learned to grow Christians and Jews; 
And poultry and seeds, and dogs of all breeds. 

And most other things that we choose ; 
We've learned to grow horses and cattle. 

But hasten the happy day when. 
Both parent and school, will cease to be fool. 

And learn to grow women and men. 



A MIXT JULIP 

Are you taking a julip? The same here too; 

It's a drink for the gods on a day like this. 
When the blood is as hot as an Irish stew; 

Sure, this cosy retreat's a haven of bliss, 
A luxury to which naught else can compare; 

The swift spinning fans, and paintings that hint, 
Of dangerous glances from beauty most rare, — 

But here comes our icy decoction of mint. 

Ah ! this travels straight home in more than one way ; 

What sweet, subtle mem'ries oft lie in a smell. 
Which instantly wafts us to childhood's blest day. 

And thrill us again with the charm of its spell; 
These straws bring to mem'ry the field of ripe wheat. 

Whose slopes tapered down to the old swimmin' hole. 
Where we boys from country and village would meet. 

And where many a Sunday, we secretly stole. 

And this mint breathes of that which grew on its bank?. 

With whose odors, the whole bright vale was alive ; 
And again we undress and indulge in odd pranks. 

Before we line up and make ready to dive ; 
You've "been there", you say ? and "remember it all" ? 

Well, Well ! Old Sawbones, just give me your hand ! 
And a past, o'er the straws and mint, we'll recall. 

Which those only who've known it, can understand. 

Yes, those fancy free moments were dearest of life, 
Aye, dearer by far, than these strenuous days. 

When we snatch a rare minute from hours of strife. 
To sip at our mint, then to rush on our ways; 
8 



126 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHEK VERSE 

Dear that mint-scented bank, where oft we'd recline, 
Watching the reapers as they swung 'round the hill ; 

While we blistered our hides in the hot sunshine. 
Then floundered about until each got his fill. 

Oh ! those bare-footed days ! they will ne'er come again, 

Gone forever their glories, departed their joys; 
It's a water and chalk life, at best with most men. 

For the cream of existence is skimmed by the boys; 
Ho ! fill up again ; and drink hearty, old soul ! 

'Twill unloosen our fancies, and limber our shanks ; 
And we'll trek thro' the wheat to that old swimmin' hole. 

Just to breathe once again, the sweet mint on its banks. 



MY MAEJOEIE 

When I look down in the beautiful sea, 
A wonderful picture appears to me; 
In those haunting depths with surface so fair, 
Mysterious things are reflected there; 
The low reaching skies of clear azute blue. 
Are blending with waves of indigo hue ; 
From light to dark, and from dark to light. 
They change and break into snowy white; 
A rainbow is resting beneath each crest. 
Like a spirit seeking a haven of rest; 
Upwards they rise, and around they whirl. 
As if they were trying to fashion a curl; 
Then they dash into spray, and splash away. 
Like wind-swept locks on a sunshiny day. 

But tlie picture which, so plainly I see. 
Is the sweet girl face of my Marjorie; 
The haunting blue depths thro' which we plow, 
Eeflect the mysterious thoughts of her brow; 
The dimpled billows are those in her cheeks, 
And her golden tresses, the sun's bright streaks; 
The blue of the sea, and blue of the skies. 
Are the light that blend in her violet eyes; 




The rainbow's the spirit reflected there, 
The wliirl of the waves, the curls of her hair; 
The dash and splash of the gossamer spray. 
Are her locks when thro' them wild winds stray 
Yes, I 'm certain when she first came to me, 
She rose right out of the beautiful sea. 

On the Mediterranean, 

October 3, 1904. 

127 



ON THE RUN AND JUMP 129 



ON" THE RUN AND JUMP 

When" late in the night, I've made my last call. 

Been on the run and jump all day, 
*'0h what so rare as my hig easy chair?'' 

Oft times to myself I say; 
And what so restful as in its wide arms. 

My care-wearied body I dump ; 
And dream my way back to the old play-ground. 

With the boys on the run and jump. 

I can see them all still around the mark. 

And myself coming down the track. 
Like a Big Four engine, with full steam on. 

Sending high the puffs from her stack; 
Tho' I was n't as long of leg, as were some, 

I made up in gi^istle and spring, 
And cleared the wide air, when I took the leap. 

Like a scared Bob White on the wing. 



'to' 



And as often I failed to clear the print. 

Of a long-legged rival's heels, 
The boys would commingle their laughs and jeers. 

In a chorus of good natured peals; 
Then back for a longer start I would go, 

As soon as my wind I regained. 
And repeat the stunt, with many a grunt. 

Till victory at last was obtained. 

Oh you who come short in the leaps of life. 

Who are weary and faint of heart. 
Just summon the spunk and spirit of youth. 

And go back for a longer start; 
For 'tis never too late to recuperate, 

While there's life, there's hope, they say; 
And again you may set your heels ahead. 

With the pluck you put in your play. 

But as thus I deeply philosophize 

On my strenuous youth and its joys, 
Where now, I exclaim, are my old school-mates. 

Where now, my old cronies — the Boys? 



130 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

As I think of them dead, or as growing gray, 
There comes in my throat a strange lump; 

And sadly I sigh for the old play-ground, 
And the Boys, on the run and jump. 



This poem is a faithful expression of the reverence for tlie 
Sabbath in the author^s early childhood. To little children, it 
was a day of doom, rather than a day of rest, joy, and the natural 
flow of feeling. Tho' the graveyard grew monotonous, there, 
only, dared we laugh and play and have a good time. 

THE ONLY PLACE TO GO 

A GLOOM fell on the village. 

Each Sunday afternoon; 
The hearts of all the children 

Beat sad and out of tune; 
They met and asked each other, 

"What pleasures can we know? 
For only to the grave-yard. 

Are we allowed to go^'. 

"Our games we must not practice, 

'Tis not considered good; 
We dare not go in wading, 

Nor ramble in the wood; 
Since every place is sinful. 

Except where tomb-stones grow. 
There's nowliere but the grave-yard, 

It seems, for us to go. 

So, thither they departed, 

All dressed so clean and bright, — 
Forgot they were sad-hearted. 

Beamed glad their eyes with light; 
To the quaint old country gi*ave-yaid 

They gave a cheery glow; 
The Sabbath clouds all scattered. 

For they'd some place to go. 



A STKANGE BKEED 131 

And romped the village children. 

Across the grassy graves, 
And found in shout and laughter. 

The joy that childhood craves; 
Like bees jhey sought the flowers. 

Each flitting to and fro,— 
There never bloom such flowers. 

As in the grave-yard grow. 

Fleet and free they wandered, 

In their innocence and grace, 
And strangely seemed more happy. 

Than in any other place; 
ISTor feared they there the presence, 

Of those who slept below ; 
Sure, sometimes to the grave-yard. 

It's good for all to go. 

May be their sleeping grandsires. 

Awakened at their noise, 
And heard overhead their footsteps. 

And joyed them in their joys. 
And saw them in their playing. 

And heard their laughter flow; 
Were glad they came on Sundays, 

When they 'd nowhere to go. 

All ! many little children. 

Like flowers are doomed to fade ; 
And low beside their grandsires 

So early are they laid ; 
Then let them have their joy-time. 

Too soon they '11 come to know 
That fmally the grave-yard 's 

Their only place to go. 



A STRANGE BREED 

He whose opinions never change 

Is a being strangely bred : 
A cross between that ancient stock — 

The foolish and the dead. 



132 REMIi^ISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



THE STEUGGLE OF THE HUMAX 

The triumphs of nations thro' all the dim past 

Have been based upon shedding blood ; 
And the gore which from human wounds have flowed, 

The mightiest valley would flood; 
Each footstep forward in the march of mind 

Unutterable woe has cost. 
And for each new thought that has been wrought 

A million lives have been lost. 

Eor all our vast achievements of good, 

And blessings of liberty sweet. 
Men have sacrificed and have agonized 

And reached them with bleeding feet; 
Methinks I hear the interminable tramp 

Of the billions since time began 
Who 've been wounded or slain for selfish gain. 

In the murderous march of man. 

In a state of war each creature must live. 

By nature ordained to be ; 
Apprehensive of harm, men instinctively arm, — 

All animals in degree; 
Since 'tis innate in man to test his strength. 

And measure his powers with might, 
Xo peace can e'er bar the mad play of war. 

Save as Eeason reckons the right. 

But since men were not made to reason alike, 

Nor from sin effect their release, 
Nor Nature change, nor her laws re-arrange. 

There can be no permanent peace; 
"We can only approach the high ideals. 

That flash like dreams thro' the brain ; 
For slow from the brute, do we e volute. 

And tlie perfect ne'er can attain. 

Progression we make to a certain point. 

Then retrogression the law; 
Men wondering stand, among ruins grand. 

The world of to-dav never saw ; 



THE STRUGGLE OF THE HU^klAN 133 

By might and by war this cycle is swayed. 

Like others long passed away ; 
We build and improve thro' pride and thro' love. 

And through luxury decay. 

Since nature, herself, is ever at strife, 

How else can it be with man ? 
Imperfectly made, unevenly weighed, 

Imperfect must be each plan ; 
Without resistance, contention and force, 

No existence long can there be; 
The tempest and storm to our needs conform. 

As the shore conforms to the sea. 

Ever onward toward goals they never may reach. 

Men struggle with armies and ships ; 
"When not at war, still preparing for war. 

With the plea of peace on their lips; 
With slaughter made holy, they blend their faiths, 

To cannon fix crescent and cross. 
And for help appeal, as to gods they kneel. 

Be it Jesus, Mohammed or Joss. 

Of the fatherhood and the brotherhood. 

Of gods and of men we prate ; 
But still must the might determine the right. 

Since with warring nature we mate; 
And ever the flag of conquest must float. 

And ever its folds be unfurled; 
And ever the theme of peace be a dream. 

And "Parliaments of the World". 

To the just and good, we can only aspire. 

The evil but modify; 
The fate of each man is to %ht, hope and plan. 

And disappointed to die. 
All nations, all men, forgotten in turn. 

Must slumber beneath the sea ; 
And again to the skies, the salt realms will rise. 

And the struggle repeated be. 



SHORT POEMS 



THE OATH 



All Courts would make sure that men on the stand. 
To the truth will strictly restrict them; 

So, they call upon God to witness their oaths. 
For He 's sure not to contradict them. 



MODEST MEiSr 

Most women modest men commend, 
Just right they seem to strike them; 

And though their virtue they defend. 
Somehow they never like them. 



THE COMPLIMEXT 

When- a beautiful woman favorably speaks 
Of another's beauty of form, eyes and cheeks. 

On which she may chance to be gazing. 
Most likely, what most she has in her mind. 
Is that she herself, has more of the kind. 

Of the beauty tliat she is praising. 



HIDDEN^ AVOETH 

In lands where richest gleams the gold, 

Good roads do not abound; 
On strands where thickest lay bright poarh 

Good schools can not be found ; 
Thus oft is hidden brightest wortli, 
In rugged, lonely souls of earth. 
134 



8H0iiT POEMS 



THE TEST OF LOVE 



135 



All poets have written and sung of love, 

All poets themselves have loved; 
But those who^ve written and sung the most, 

The least their constancy proved ; 
So 't is wise not to gauge the passion rare, 

By those who interpret best ; 
To fall heels over head, yourself instead. 

Is the only reliable test. 



A FEUITFUL THOUGHT 

That fruit is not best, which the longest 

Hangs withering upon the tree; 
But the fruit that can fall without shaking. 

Indeed is too mellow for me ; 
So, the love that's exclusively frigid. 

Is worse than the love that is free; 
But that which can be won without teasing. 

Indeed is too ripened for me. 



ENVIRONMENT 

A BIG alligator came up from a bog. 
And stretched himself on an old dead log; 
As he winked and blinked his little bright eyes. 
No sage ever looked so wonderfully wise; 
Tho' 'twould seem his reason was dull and dim, 
Still he had all the reason needed for him ; 
For no better life did he have a concern. 
And in no better place did he need to learn ; 
But you, little boy, some better things need — 
You must ponder and think and listen and read. 
And to your own reason, be faithful and true, 
Tho' all the blind world should differ from you, 
Else, you too, as well, may exist in a bog, 
And dream away life on an old dead log. 



136 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

COEAL REEFS 

Oh ! many a good ship has been lost. 

On a wave-kissed coral reef; 
And many more will be tempest-tossed, 

And likewise come to grief; 
And many a man has come to woe, 

(I'm giving yon now a tip), 
"Who let tlie old for a new love go. 

And like the ill-fated ship, 
Has come to grief on the coral reef^ 

Of a lustful, hiscions lip. 



THE LOVE UXIYEESAL 

There ne'er were loves of sweethearts tmc^ 

Of fathers and of mothers. 
Within themselves full and complete. 

But as they loved all others; 
'Tis nuptial love createth life, 

'Tis friendly love perfects it; • 
'Tis the whole of love exalts mankind. 

Because the whole expects it. 



THE THORNY WAY 

Oh ! richest are the roses. 
Whose dewy leaf discloses 

The sharpest hidden thorn; 
And ricliest are the purples, 
Tliat burst from thorny thistles. 

And their prickly points adorn; 
So, richest far is beauty, 
That springs from stubborn duty. 

With care beset each day; 
And purpled most with glory, 
Is the right, grown old and hoar}^, 

That had to fight its way. 



SHORT POEMS 



NFEE YIELD TO DESPAIR 

Ne'er a heart obscure and lonely. 

Should yield to grief or despair; 
No fountain that flows, but is loved by the rose, 

And bright stars are imaged there. 



THE HUMAN GRIND 

(An old thought in a new dress). 
The wheat in the straw must first be tlireshed. 
E'er for silver and gold it can be cashed : 
Then the burrs of the mill must tear apart. 
The grain of the wheat and crush its heart. 
And of hull and middling render it clear, 
E'er the richness and worth of the flour appear. 
So, not till the soul has been crushed by woe. 
Will its worth and whiteness and fineness show. 



A DECIDED INDECISION 

All Christian faiths I like so well. 
That never could I truly tell 

Just which I liked the best ; 
Tho' twixt themselves they can't agree. 
Yet all unite in offering me, 
A job where I will either be. 

At furnace work or rest; 
And so, between them, ne'er could I 
A choice declare; nor specify 
Just which I most would like to try. 

Or to which faith belong; 
Since all have the same goods to sell, 

(And selling like a song). 
Stocks in Heaven, and stocks in — well, 

I do n't suppose it matters much. 
Which faith I'd chance to choose; for such, 
As are not indeed, infallible. 

Are never in the wrong. 



138 KEMINISCENT KHYMES A^D OTHER VEJiSE 

MEN AND MANSIONS 

There are men who are masters of mansions, 
G-emmed with works of genius rare, 

Who live in state^ amid grandeur gi'eat. 
Themselves the smallest things there. 



BETTER TO HOPE 

"What, after all, is our trust and faith. 

In a life forever and ever? 
What, but a pleasing fervent hope ? 

A certain assurance, never; 
But better far that brief, bright hope. 
While blindly, sadly, here we grope. 



YIETUE 



S"v\EET virtue's like the violets. 

That in the valley grow; 
That hang their fair heads downward. 

And drop their glances low ; 
That hides itself with its own leaves. 
And all unseen, in silence grieves 

When ill winds tiercel v blow. 



IN THE NICHE OF TIME 

Jes' when you most are down in tlie mouth. 

An' grief to the brim fills yer cup. 
An' it seems a clear case o' down an' out. 

Somehow — sumpin' good turns up; 
Jes' right in the niche o' time, it appears, 
'At sumpin' occurs 'at brightens an' cheers. 

An' lightens the weight o' yer woes; 
So, never despair when with sorrow you sup, 
Eer sumpin'. er other '11 be sure to turn up, 

Ef it's nothin' more'n yer toes. 



SHOKT POEMS 139 

A QUESTION OF GENDER 

Most men admire and worship God, 

Because He's of their gender; 
And women — just because He's male. 

Have feelings for Him tender; 
But 'spose He were the other sex, 

(I'm savin' it to taze her). 
By man alone She'd worsliipped be. 

For woman ne'er would praise Her. 



CEITIC AXD CREATOR 

Who'd rank the critic at his best, 

"With the author at his highest? 
Thick at the feet of art and verse, 

Dead critics deepest liest; 
Aye, rapidly recedes the fame. 

Of the critic when he's gone; 
While many a crushed composer 

Lives grandly, gloriously on. 
Most loved are they by fickle Fate, 
Who question less, and more create. 



CONSTAXCY 

When to its trunk the axe is laid, 
The tree will still the woodman shade. 

And cool his heated brow; 
E'en so the heart of woman-kind. 
By sorrow saddened and refined. 
To cruel strokes will still be blind, — 

Still constant to each vow; 
Will still the shade of pity throw 
O'er him who gives the drunken blow. 

As shades the leafy bough; 
Oh, loving woman ! prostrate, low — 

Forgiving angel, thou ! 



140 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

THE GREATEST BLESSING 

Of all of Nature's sweet blessings, 

None so merciful and vast. 
As our ignorance of the future. 

And our burial of the past ; 
To know naught of good or evil. 

That may lie before the mind. 
The sin forget and each regret. 

And mistake that lies behind; 
Yes ! this is the greatest blessing, 

Nature gives to human kind. 



THE GREATEST ERROR 

Of all of the human errors. 

None so hard against to strive. 
As professing to know the future. 

And keeping dead dogmas alive; 
To trade on the good or the evil. 

Of which men nothing can know. 
To look behind for guidance of mind. 

And blindly refuse to grow; 
Yes ! this is the greatest of errors. 

And cause of human woe. 



MISDIRECTION 

Those fail who have the power to do. 

But not the will to act ; 
Still feebler those, who nothing true. 

Can find in each new fact; 
Oh ! what a world this world would be. 
Had it more of aim and energy. 

And common sense and tact ; 
Then few there'd be to fight and fail. 
For push and progress would prevail. 

And form with peace a pact. 



SHORT POEMS 



WOMAN 



141 



The dearest, sweetest gift to man. 

That nature ever gave; 
His comforter and worshipper. 

His angel and his slave; 
She's sunlight, moonlight, starlight. 

She's music, flower and song; 
And ev'ry faith, and hope, and love, 

And joy to her belong; 
And ev'ry beauty rare, and grace. 

Around her, jealous, throng; 
She's nature's masterpiece and pride. 
And art's divinity beside. 
And naught, in all creation wide. 

So constant, pure and true; 
But who in earth, or who in hell. 
Or even in heaven itself can tell 
Just when she's going to take a spell. 

Or what she's going to do? 



THE CLEARma 

Blind faith was once a forest thick. 

Which stretched before the mind; 
Great trees concealed what lay before. 

Fierce armies hid behmd : 
But by and by, strong axe-men came. 

And the taller timber felled; 
The armies then saw visions rare. 
The hills be3^ond and valleys fair. 
And truth and progress everywhere. 

And so, 'gainst Faith rebelled; 
Desertions many thinned the ranks, 
The front, the center, rear and flanks. 

When they the Truth beheld; 
Now, shrubbery only marks the place 

Where once the forest grew; 
But sharpers still therein abide. 
With Faith, still in the thicket hide. 

And keep their aim on you. 



142 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHEK VERSE 

THE CONSCIOUS POWER 

What careth the bird for the bending bough ? 

Tho' ever so frail, still he sings; 
What careth he, tho' it break from the tree ? 
He keepeth right on with his minstrelsy, 

For conscious is he of his wings. 



A LIFE LESSON 

Come pain and trouble in this life. 

As soon as wo begin it : 
And nothing good from it we get. 

Except what we put into it; 
Who, name and fame and wealth would have, 

Must go to work to win it. 



THE HIDE-BOUXD 

Stern Nature knows- no rest nor pause, 

And curses all inaction; 
To learn, progress, and forward press. 

Is e'er her strict exaction ; 
But men there are who fixed become, 
And limit reach, when bound by some. 

Faith led, fanatic faction. 



THE CALL OF REST 

Tho' sorrow and strife mark the Journey of life, 

Yet sunny are most of the hours; 
Tho' 'tis burdened with care, yet the wayside is fair. 

And bright with the bloom of its bower? : 
But tho' Nature be ga}^, along the whole way. 

And in splendor the summers are dressed. 
Yet none after all, but list to the call. 
Of the voices that sigh in the dying Fall, 

Come home, weary pilgrim and re?t. 



SHOKT POEMS 143 

PLUNGE IX 

Tho'' dark and cold the river flows. 
And white its banks with drifted snows. 
And ne'er a boat is nigh or oar, — 
Do n't shivering stand upon the shore. 

Nor backward turn for cover; 
Just muster grit, nor wait a bit. 

Plunge in and have it over. 



^^THE ETEENAL FEMININE" 

That force Divine which Nature strange, 

Exerts o'er all things human. 
And which men call the Power of God, 

Is more the Power of Woman ; 
The Eternal Eeminine's the flame. 

That never can be smothered; 
Naught comes in life of either sex. 

But comes Divinely mothered; 
And e'en the Saviors of mankind. 

Unfathered, as you see, 
Must thro' the womb of woman pass. 

E'er gods they get to be. 



ORATOEY 



'T IS said a cannon should heavier be, 

A hundred times than its shot; 
Likewise the mighty mass of the man. 
That fires the ponderous thought: 
But most of men who try to orate. 
Are so small of bore, and light of weight. 
They haven't the force to puncture a pate, 

As thin as a coffee pot. 
^T is the man behind the thought that counts. 

As well as behind the gun ; 
We can all fire No. 9 shot at birds. 
But it takes a Webster to hurl the words, 

That weigh at least a ton. 



144 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

THE UNPAKDOXABLE SIX 

What woman is happy in company, 
Xo matter her charms and grace, 

When compelled by the charms of another. 
To fill but a second place? 



THE FIXAL HAPPIXESS 

After all, the final happiness, 

For which human kind contend. 
Is but little more than selfishness. 

And a madness in the end ; 
To just be saved, what e'er the lot 
Of others be — or saved or not — 
Save me, Great God, from such a thought. 
And my human heart defend. 



WOMAX'S EIGHTS - 
Bo YOU ask if I am for Woman's Eights? 

Oh, yes ! I'm a Suffragette ; 
If men would be free, the women must be. 

But are they ready for it yet? 
For Freedom '& a jewel, so valued by Heaven, 
That fought for it must be, and tuon not given; 

What we strive for only we get. 
Sure the rights of one are the rights of all. 
And together the sexes must stand or fall. 

And together they'll stick, you bet! 
But women will never be ready to vote. 
Till, as well as the men, they can ride a goat. 

And to fainting they put a stop ; 
Till they've as much of Adam in tliom as Eve, 
And they learn to reason, as well as believe. 

And "The Question" can manfully pop ; 
Till they'd rather by babies than poodles be kissed, 
And they cease, everlastingly cease to persist 

In poking the fire at the top. 



SHORT POKMS 145 

ASSISTING DEATH 

AViTH stealthly step and noiseless tread. 

Death ever stalks before us; 
And long and keen his sweeping blade. 

Impending ever o'er us; 
We never know when he will turn. 

And on our journey stay us; 
Since at the farthest, none go far, 
What madness then to summon war, 

And death assist to slav us? 



THE SHEEP MIND 

Mankind are like a flock of sheep. 

We oft see driven by; 
That do just as their leaders do, — 
If one should jump, they all jump too. 

Without ever thinking: wliv. 



THE PRECEPT PPE-EMINENT 

Hold fast each precept that seems good. 

But this of all hold faster; 
Let all good men thy teachers be. 

But no man be thy master. 



FOPGIVENESS 

Since our own poor frailties forgiveness need. 

To forgive, then, is life's first duty; 
There's nothing will give 3'ou revenge so sweet. 

And fill all your day with beauty. 
'Tis thro' ignorance mostly, that men are mean. 

With goodness all hearts are in tune; 
So, let us forgive each day that we live, 

For we all have to die so soon. 



1-16 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

DO THE ANGELS LAUGH? 

Oft I\e looked at their placid pictures. 

And have wondered o^er and o'er. 
If there's any fun in the angels, 

And if they ever laugh and roar; 
If they do, they must have a picnic. 

And a high time now and then, 
When they stand and gaze at the monkeys. 

That pass on the earth for men. 



WHAT IS DEATH AFTER ALL? 

What is death after all? 

When comes his last call. 
There'll be naught of earth's pains to remind us ; 
And forever before, are bright worlds to explore. 
And we only leave mortals behind us. 

Discontented mortals behind us; 
Selfish and greedy, sickly and needy. 

Miserable mortals behind us. 



THE MOUNTAIN SHOAYER 

As THE mountain from its snow}^ height. 

Sends earthward sparkling showers. 
The thirsty vales to fertilize, 

And give life to the flowers. 
So, let some thought that I give wing. 
Some gentle song tliat I may sing, 
To weary souls some sweet hope bring. 

In sorrow's saddest hours; 
Not upward soaring let them go, 
But like ihe mountain freshets, flow 
S])arkling down to vales below; 
In hearts that thirst for human love, 
That need a hand stretched from above, 
A liope, a lielp, a staffs to prove 

In life's most bitter hours. 



SHORT POEMS 147 

MONOPOLY AND LABOE 

No BETTER friend has William Goat, 

Than honest Boa-Constrictor; 
In union close would Boa abide. 
In business right by William's side. 

His wit. Bill's labor matchin'; 
But should it chance, as like as not. 
That William Goat should scent a plot. 

That long had been a hatchin', 
And bristlin' up, would quick decide. 
To butt right in for a divide. 

Who then becomes the victor? 
If close you look, you'll likely note. 
No trace is left of William Goat, 
Not e'en the whiskers on his throat — 

It's all Boa-Constrictor. 



A TOAST 



God bless them all — the dear women! 

God bless them, the angel host ! 
God bless the high, to the very sky, 

But bless the poor mothers the most; 
For 'tis they who most in the valley. 

And the shadow of death go down; 
'Tis they who strength to government give, 
'Tis they who die that statesmen may live, 

With never reward or renown; 
'Tis they who most with poverty sup, 
'Tis they who drink the dregs of life's cup. 

Forever 'neath fortune's frown; 
So, a toast ! a toast ! to the angel host — • 
To the women all, but to those the most. 

Who low in the valley go down — 

The poor who most often go down; 
Who royally mother our Webster s and Clays, 
Our Jeffersons, Jacksons, Lincolns and Hayes, 

With never the hope of a crown — 

With never the thought of a crown. 



148 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

THE GOOD TIME COMmO 

Oh ! men of pride and surfeit. 

There are others rowing, hoeing. 
Whose time is surely coming, 

Just as }ours is surely going; 
Not always will the idler. 

His share of labor shirk. 
Be he rich or poor, it's coming sure, . 

When those who eat must work. 
Aye, it's coming, surely coming. 

Within this troubled land, 
Wlien law and justice for the poor. 

As well as rich shall stand ; 
When enough of men of heart there'll be, 
'Mong rich and poor to clearly see 
Man's duty's to humanit}^ 

And lend an honest hand. 



A POETICAL APOLOGY 

To FAME and position some poets have grown. 
Who perchance by a single poem are known; 
Transcendant, obscure, and precisely refined. 
Most verse fills the ear, but wearies the mind ; 
Skillfully scanned and wondrously wrought. 
Ten pages of rhyme, with never a thought; 
As polished and perfect as chiseled art. 
With seldom a glow of mind, love or heart; 
And most of that written by even the great. 
To death and oblivion is destined by fate; 
Aye, many a poet of classic research. 

Who, renowned in their day became. 
Forgotten, now lie like Eg;\'pt's kings. 

In their pyramid piles of fame. 
Ah ! a pity that most, who in rhyming take pride. 
Do n't know they are dead, long before they've died ; 
But the excuse for the poet is certainly just — 
We continue to write, just because we must. 



SHORT POEMS 

THE ACQUIEEMENT OF YIETUE 

Upon your own honor must virtue depend. 
Upon 3'our own culture and scruples ; 

For ne'er do the gods, their own virtue lend, 
Nor do they take in any pupils. 



149 



FAR BETTER 

Far better with hunger to share your cup. 
Far better with sorrow to sit and sup. 

And smile, than at fate to frown; 
'T is easier, by far, to lift a man up. 

Than it is to hold him down. 



THE BLUNDERER 

A WARM, impulsive, blundering man. 
Progressive, free, with power to plan. 

But sinful in sight of some eyes, 
Far more may do for the world and his race. 
Than a sanctified saint, with an unctions grace. 
Beaming all over his infallible face. 

With a look that is frigidly wise. 



OUR SOLACE 

There is a calm supporting power. 
Sustains us when misfortunes lower. 

And dangers thick befall us; 
When comes our time of direst need, 
And none, there are, for us to plead. 
And face, we must, the martyr's hour. 

And death's dark looks appall us, — 
'Tis then the sense of sowing seed. 
That yet will spring to worthy deed, 

And good we've done's, our solace. 



150 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHKK VEKSE 



OFFICE 



To HIM of worth it greatness gives. 

As much it gives to clown; 
Low characters it raises up, 

The high, oft tumbles down; 
And treble must the high be paid. 

While twice the low receives. 
Lest every office come to be 

A nest of common thieves ; 
A tricky craft, who more in graft. 

Than honestv believes. 



THE FIRST LADY 

As THE bones to the body, the beams to a house, 

So order's related to love; 
AVho maketh her home, tho' humble, still grand, 
"First Lady'' is she of all of the land, 

And this her proud husband will prove; 
But if, half the time, the supper is burned. 
And topsy-turvy the house is turned. 
He feels like saying — "Well, I'll be churned !" 

And disgusted, wishes to move. 



THE DAWX UPON THE BROW 

On ! what so glorious in man 

As power to think, resolve and plan. 

Design, construct, endow; 
His superstitions to out-grow, 
The truth proclaim in face of foe, 
To different be — to seek, to know 

The when, the why, the how; 
To welcome thought, and honor toil. 
Close keep to nature and the soil. 

With a firm hand on the plow ; 
To face the future, fearless, free. 
To brave the fates, whate'er they be. 

With the dawn upon the brow. 



SllOKT POEMS 151 

THE JOY OF THE FREE MIND 

"When master minds in trumpet tones. 

Which all can plainly hear, 
The truths of science bold proclaim. 

Why should ye longer fear? 
Why longer fear the threat of hell? 

Why fear the bishop's frown. 
When science fast is going up. 

And superstition down? 
Why longer grope ye ^mong the blind? 

Why fear to face the day. 
With those of independent mind. 

Who proudly lead the way? 
Why not your self approval gain ? 

Why a mental coward be ? 
Faith never knew a hope or joy, 

Like that of liberty. 



PEEJIJDICE 

Who only knows his own country or creed. 

Knows only a little of that; 
Who can, but who will not open his eyes. 

Is blind as the blindest bat. 

Who never peeps beyond the beliefs. 

Implanted within his youth. 
All others regard as false, and himself. 

The sole possessor of truth. 
Such folks as believe in existence of ghosts, 

A ghost can easily see ; 
And evil likewise, in those they despise. 

Behold to a certainty; 
Certain they are of what they only view. 
And horrified, gasp at each thought that 's new. 
Especially if it be palpably true, 

Preferring to be befuddled; 
By prejudice most of society's ruled. 
Which chiefly consists of fools and the fooled, 

Vf[\o keep the world miserably muddled. 



152 KEMIXISCEXT KHYMES A2sD OTHEK TEKSE 

THE GREATEST TRAGEDY 

All capable of knowledge are, and aspirations liigli. 
Yet still in beastly ignorance, the many live and die ; 
A bare existence gaining, toiling early, long and late, 
Ever starved at heart and yearning for a nobler, better fate, 
Ah ! what of all lifers tragedies, so pitiable and great ? 

Bound to ignorance, penury, strife. 

And all so short, so short is life. 



AXTI-SUICIDE 

Xo MATTER how wearied and troubled you are. 

How much you may sorrow and sigh. 
You can still find something better to do. 

Than to just deliberately die; 
Spite of all you may do, too soon cometh death, 
And you don't do at all, if you have no breath; 
Far better this life, what e'er be its curse, 
Than to chance some other, that may be worse; 
So, for me, no matter the pain and the strife, 
I '11 put off dying till the last thing in life. 



EXPECT AXCY 

We only live because we're kept forever hoping, guessing; 

Xo matter how oppressing. 

How painful and distressing. 
We never have a trouble, but what we have a blessing, 
There's ne'er a doorway closes, but another softly opens. 
There's ne'er a love forsakes us, but another sweet appears ; 

There's ne'er a grief that saddens. 

There's ne'er a pain lliat maddens, 
But some sweet spirit gladdens and drives away our tears : 
As Spring succeeds the Winter, so happiness our sorrows, 
Or otlierwise existence unbearable would be; 
However long and dark tlie days, there'll come some briglit 

to-morrows, 
And so we link ourselves to life, by sweet expectancy. 



SHORT POEMS 



HEREDITY 



153 



Because, on a time, a tortoise. 

Achieved a memorable deed. 
Is no proof that his descendants 

Are miracles of speed; 
For a tortoise still is a tortoise. 

And a hare is still a hare, 
Their descendants no slower nor faster. 

And neither with brains to spare; 
The one being good for nothing, 

The other for a fry, that 's fair. 



THE DONKEY POPULATION" 

The more I view the masses. 

More plainly do I see, 
That most of men are asses. 

Of the Jack variety; 
Bunched in a corner dozin', 
And in seemin' prayer posin', 

There a stayin' an' a stickin'; 
Who ne'er attempt to say their say. 
Except to raise their tails an' bray. 
An' 'fore they '11 move ten feet away, 

'LI take all kinds o' lickin'; 
The slowest most when on the go. 

And only quick at kickin'. 



PITY FOR ALL 

There 's no one but has his troubles. 

None from sorrow and sickness free; 
Be they the rich, or the dolt in the ditch. 

All alike have their misery; 
No joy to great heights e'er was lifted, 

But downward again has been hurled ; 
When I look around, at the griefs that abound. 
That in mansion as well as hovel are found, 

I 'm sorry for all of the world. 



154 KEMINISCEXT RHYMES A>D OTIIKK YEKSE 

POOR BUT PUEE 
Have you scorn for the lowly? Go shelve it! 

For often thro' life you will find. 
That virtue is vicious in velvet. 

And the poorest are purest in mind. 



AN IMMEASURABLE DISTANCE. 

Oh ! long is the way, and wondrous the plan. 
From microbe to monkey and mystical man ; 
But longer, far longer, you '11 surely agree, 
The distance twixt prayer and philosophy. 



AT THE FRONT 
You may plunge and splash, and cut a wide dash, 

And do many a likely stunt. 
But you 've never lived, if you can not say. 
In one thing, at least, along life's way, 

''I 've stood for awhile at the front." 



WORSE THAN THE WORLD 

Of churclies, good, indifferent, bad. 

And of preachers, there are many ; 
But better with sinners stand or fall. 
And better be of no church at all. 
Than bisroted be, for any. 



FATAL POSSESSION 
Or all the pursuits, none half so sweet. 
Of all possessions, none complete 

As love's first mutual kiss; 
But ah ! too oft the wish obtained. 
And ah ! too oft the purpose gained, 

Is but the grave of bliss. 



SHORT POEMS 155 



HEAVEX 



"Just wliat and where is Heaven ?" you ask — 
That place of pure completeness ; 

^T is found right here, my little dear, 
In passion, love and sweetness; 

In you, my love — in you, my dove. 
The sweetness of completeness. 



A COMMON PRACTICE 

No MATTER how you stifle truth. 

Or lyingly pretend, 
The little minds of many kinds. 

You never must offend; 
For sake of trade, best to evade. 

And with them smoothly blend; 
This object be your first and chief — 
Adapt yourself to their belief; 
E'er let each act belie the fact. 

Be sure with them to fit; 
Do n't make a move they do n't approve. 

Just play the hypocrite ; 
What manly thing can more you do. 
Than to ignorance be faithful, true. 

And with it make a hit? 



GENTLENESS 

There never was power had half the might. 

To lead, to win and to bless, 
To soften the wrong and command the right, 

As that of sweet gentleness; 
Soft is the music that longest charms. 
Gentle the words that our rage disarms. 

And most our sympathies move; 
And never the banner of bravery beams. 
So bright, as when bound by silken seams. 

And the srolden cords of love. 



156 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

MEDDLESOME KEFOEM 

So MUCH to reforming the private affairs 
Of others, some dear folks are given, 

If naught else were to fight, they 'd tackle the Lord, 
For the way He presumes to run Heaven. 



WHEN LOXG FORGOTTEN 

AViiEN long forgotten my name and book, 
If chance, while scanning sonie musty nook, 
A savant should find it, and thro' it look. 

And smile at my simple rhyme. 
My spirit will leap from its house of clay. 
And feel it had lived, if but he shall say, — 

''Not very much of a poet was he, 

Nor seemingl}'- tried he, a poet to be; 
But a man was he, 
And his soul was free. 

And he lived ahead of his time." 



A QUEER "SCIENCE'^ 

Since God is all and perfect is, 

God can not sickly be; 
Since He 's in us, and we in Him, 

Then, neither sick are we. 
Our leg 's still on, when it is off'. 
And we 've no cough, when we \e a cough. 

Nor blind when we can't sec ; 
A cancer's only a mental spell, — 
Imagine it 's not, and you '11 get well. 

For a dead sure certainty. 
The sick ain't sick (it's all in the head), 
And the old ain't old, and the dead ain't dead, 

(Plain enough to you and me) ; 
Disease has no existence, they say, 

But bid us have faith — endure it; 
And still denying, for so much pay, 

They'll agree every time to cure it. 



SHORT POEMS 157 

JOB'S WIFE 

The man most patient in all of the world, 
And the most afflicted, was Job; 

Who had sorrow and grief. 

Beyond hope of relief. 
And boils too many to probe. 
But never a word in the Book of Life, 
Tells of the sorrows of his poor old wife. 
The woman, most patient, you ^11 surely agree. 
The world ever knew, was certainly she : 
For, what with her own afflictions and toils, 
She had to put up with old Job and his boils. 



WEEE I THE SUN 

AYeee I the sun that lights the world. 

And views its evils daily. 
Its stupid follies, starving times. 
Its vices, ciiielties and crimes, 

I could not shine so gaily; 
And having shone ten thousand years. 
On everlasting pain and tears. 

While my bright course pursuing. 
It seems to me I 'd hotter grow. 
And deep incensed, would want to know. 

What God and man are doing. 



THE EEIGX OF CANT AND SHAM 

Both up and down the human line, whichever side you search, 

In politics or business, in society or church. 

So much polite pretension is parrotted in speech. 

So much of soft suavity, each bestows on each. 

Such formulated lying, all human-kind, forsooth. 

Indulges, till it's blinded to the finer sense of truth; 

Aye, so much of life, are cant and sham a ruling, potent part, 

It's hard, to tell when any tongue is index of the heart. 



COUPLETS 

That man over nothing in nature reigns, 

"Who never his own approbation gains. 

^ ^ ^ 

Oh ! glad the heart at Easter, rejoices every lover, 

For nature seems herself again, when Lent at last is over. 

* * ♦ 

Such souls as swim in surfeit, and still wish for greater ease. 

Are like a school of thirsty fish, in wide unbounded seas. 

* * * 

Only men of the strongest passions to greatness ever grow: 
Eesistless is the current, when the flood-tides force its flow. 

H^ Hj ♦ 

Poor genius ne'er is honored, till dead and in the ground ; 

The earth must first be blasted before its gems are found. 

* * ♦ 

He who surrenders right of thought, looks aye thro' glasses dim : 

lie never holds opinions, but opinions hold him. 

* * * 

Tho' peace 't would seem for humankind, 'than strife, is bet- 
ter far. 

Yet all things have their birth and start in enmity and war. 

* * * 

The past forever buried is, to-morrow may not be; 

Tlie present time alone is ours, so live it gloriously. 

* * * 

Two-thirds of all of piety is nothi^ig more than paint ; 

The more of honesty has man, the less he seems a saint. 

* * * 

The truly great who rise to heights where all tlieir fame may sec, 

AA'hat e'er they do, for their own sakes, should do it worthily. 

* ♦ * 

All faiths would be consistently good, were they built upon tins 

plan. 
That what men willingly do for God, they would likewise do for 

man. 

* * :;: 

'T is only they who love the false, who fierce the truth dispute; 
The ignorant call iiim Heretic, whose speech they can't refute. 

158 



COUPLETS 



159 



So modest, nice is prudery, with friend as well as stranger^ 
It doubly fortifies itself, when there 's not a bit of danger. 

* * * 

Who 's not open to conviction, however true and tried, 
For reasoning and discussion, is never qualified. 

Oh ! sweet the love of maiden, with her witching, wanton spells, 
But 't is only in sweet motherhood the love angelic dwells. 

:!; * * 

How closely linked are life and death, how tightly knit the bond, 

Though pain and sickness lie behind, and darkness lies beyond. 

^ ♦ ♦ 

Since upon each other men must lean, for help in their distress. 

What greater motive can we have, for love and tenderness? 

* * * 

'T is seldom, if ever, women kind, with friendship deep are 
moved. 

Because insipid friendship grows, when once they \e tasted love. 

* * * 

'"T is the little frets and cares of mind, which dreariest make tlie 

day; 
The chains which heaviest cramp and bind, the least will often 

weigh. 

Though tongues may tattle and criticise, just go ahead — don't 

stop ; 
Doth the steeple mind the 'rooks that caw and chatter around its 

top? 

* * * 

Who neither hospitality has, of home, or heart, or head. 

May as well as a salted mackerel, indefinitely be dead. 

* * * 

So fixed to faith some men become, they bar all other explana- 
tion ; 

More wonder and truth in an embryo, than in the whole of rev- 
elation. ^ ^ ,{- 

To make an inconceivable cause, truly and clearly conceivable. 

Is next to making an uncaused cause, truly and clearly believable. 

* * * 

There 's nothing makes human nature so rebellious grow and hot. 
As that presumable declaration — ^'Thou shalt not". 
10 



160 KEMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VEKSE 

What once we^ve loved with memory must ever still remain; 
With a diamond fine love leaves its line upon the heart's clear 
pane. 

Within some self-important minds the whole of wisdom centers ; 

But out of which none ever flows, and plainly, none e'er enters. 

* * * 

There ne'er was Church or faith or creed, since this old world 
began, 

But strangely linked its fear of God with jealous hate of man. 

* * * 

There 's just one Trinity on earth that loves and curses not : 

That of Poesy and Science, and free, untrammeled Thouglit. 

* * * 

In damning every creed 's engaged — one faith against the other; 
Damnation, therefore, none escape, since we all damn one an- 
other. * * * 

That God of love is certainly in a queer kind of biz. 
Who 'd have us love our enemies, while He damns His. 

There's many a wonder of the mind, but none so great, for- 
sooth, 

As that men should nettled get and sour, on being shown the 
truth. :u * * 

Tn all life's strange conditions, wliat other pliase or mood 
So very, very lonesome as being extrem^ely good ? 

Hi H: 'H 

There is but one religion, one faith that stands the test. 

And that 's the dear ideal that seems to each the best. 

* * * 

'T is superstition — evil hag — and creeds tliat ne'er forgive 

That make the many fear to die, and even fear to live. 

* * * 

Of all the strange, strange things of life, it just beats all the 

deuces, 
How any man should be content with less than he produces. 

Far up the mountain heights of mind poets great aspire to 

throng. 
Forgetting the heart's the haunt of lovo, and region of soul 

and son<r. 



INVINCIBLE 



INVINCIBLE. 



161 



Whate'er oppose dare 1 to be. 
Thought free for each endeavor; 

The fact shall now be fact to me. 
And truth be truth forever. 

To no tyrant law do I bow, 

From no circumstance I shrink; 

No bigot shall e'er brand my brow. 
Nor hinder my right to think. 

I fear not the censure of men, 

1 take no faith upon trust; 
I 'm the fee of all dogma, when, 

It presumes to say, "You must." 

Work and let work, live and let live. 
Think and let think, I avow; 

The faults of ignorance forgive, 
And make a heaven of Now. 

From creeds of the past I 'm exempt, 
No fears of hell do me haunt; 

No future rewards do me tempt. 
No terrors of death do me daunt. 

Mine from the beaten track to stray 
O'er bones of the fallen dead; 

Mine to disclose the unknown way. 
And the future far ahead. 

Mine to press on with fearless feet, 
Tho' chasms yawn and tempests rage; 

Tho' scorn or smile my passing greet, 
Tho' with friend or foe engage. 

Mine the intrepid chieftain's part. 
To face every weapon hurled; 

AVho conquers well his own coward heart, 
Hath conquered the coward world, 



162 BEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Tho' bloody the conquests of life. 
And dripping I front the foe. 

Still erect I stand ^mid the strife. 
And blow give for every blow. 

With freedom stand I for the right. 
With freedom to sin as well ; 

Pree to serve Heaven with my might. 
And as free to side with Hell. 

Master of my own fate am I, 
As God is Master of all ; 

By truth to stand, to fight the lie, 
Tho' the very heavens fall. 



WOMAN INVTXCIBLE. 

There never yet was heart of man 
Safe armed 'gainst woman's wiles; 

There never yet was plot or plan 
Could shield him from her smiles. 

But when with smiles he seems to tire. 

And longs for deeper bliss. 
She glows anew with conquering fire, 

And holds him with a kiss. 

Should smiles and kisses fail to burn. 

Or cease to satisfy, 
Should he to coldness seem to turn. 

She smites him with a sigh. 

And when disarmed and vanquished quite, 

All humbled he appears, 
Then smile and kiss and sigh unite 

To chain him with her tears. 

With Smile and Kiss and Sigh and Tear, — 

Her weapons, she connuands ; 
Each keener far than sword or spear — 

Invincible she stands. 



THE rOET 
\ 

THE POET 
The Heart's Uxiversal Exponent 

Never yet was poet under the sun, 
Never yet a great poet who loved but one; 
Never yet the light of one -pair of eyes 
Could be the whole of his Paradise; 
Ne'er a red lip made but for him to kiss. 
For love is his life^ — all sweet love is his ; 
Ne'er a fair form made, but for liim to press, 
For to him belongeth all loveliness. 
What to him are rank and gold and power? 
More to him, tlie timid wildwood flower: 
Where'er his fancies take their course. 
There inspiration finds its source; 
Free as the air and forever free, 
His winging soul like a bird must be. 

Of the world's great pulsing heart, 

He must ever be a part; 

Of its gladness, cheer and ease. 

And all its many miseries; 

He must soar with beauty bright. 

He must stand on reason's height. 

He must with fierce passion pant. 

The truth must know from rant and cant; 

He must with the lordly talk. 

He must with the weakling walk ; 

He must with the starving feel. 

He must with the drunken reel. 

He must hear the clink of gold 

On marriage marts where hearts are sold ; 

He must hear the virtuous vows 

Of rustic loves, neath budding bows; 

He must know life as it is — 

All its joys and pains be his. 

All its tenderest sympathies; 

Sweet nature^'s one inspired call. 

To represent some phase of all ; 



103 



164 REMINISCENT K11YMP:S AND OTHElt VKKSE 

To paint the "aniversal soul. 
Expressed within the varied wliole. 
And e'er the incarnation be, 
*' And clarion voice of liberty. 

To nothing is the poet bound. 

Or limited; 
To him, all eartli is holy ground, 

And wine and bread; 
He loves mankind the whole world 'round, 
He loves wherever love is found, 
To all love w ed ; 
But let him once, love's charmed cup drain. 
Let him feel the weight of lock and chain. 
Upon his heart, and never again, 
Will he sing of love in the old time strain. 



ONE SWEET SUMMEE MORE 

Oh ! weary I grow of the city's heat, 

Of the frenzied rush of the crowded street. 

And weary I grow forever more, 

Of its restless, rumbling, riotous roar. 

And oft in my waking hours, 
I list to the mingling melodies, 
Of winds among the orchard trees. 
And songs of birds and hum of bees. 
Among the May-time bowers; 
When the sun again his passion imparts. 

And his love glows everywhere. 
And bursting buds are breaking their hearts, 

New odors to give to the air. 
And shy, wee flowers in thicketed ways, 
Timidly shrink from human gf.ze, — 
Oh ! the many, merry, musical Mays, 

And June-times, rich and rare; 

Oh ! for one sweet day so fair ! 

One day, with never a care ! 



ONE SWEET SUMMER MOKE 165 

Thus oil 1, musing, drift away 

In sweet delusive dreams, 
Where flamed and faded youth's bright day — 

(Thro' memory still it gleams), 
Again I wander far and free, 
I hear the surf-songs of the sea — 
Its mournful, mystic, monody — 
I hear the wild-wood's minstrelsy. 

And sylvan song of streams; 
And bab}^- faced flowers peep at me, 
Thro' fringed ferns so wond'ringly. 
And half in welcome, and half surprise, 
From out of the depths of her azure eyes. 

The blue-bell upon me beams. 

Or, by old field paths I idly stray, 
Exchanging greetings all of the wa}^ 
AYith loves I lost in the long ago — 
The birds and blossoms I used to know — 

Who, their tales of love repeat ; 
Ah ! how in my heart, their gentle grace. 
And soothing voices, take the place. 

Of the clang and glare of the street; 
And on I wander, dreamily on, 
Forgetting the day is nearly gone. 
By copse and dingle and sylvan retreat, 
Where winds come burdened with odors sweet. 
From new-mown slopes of hay and wheat — 

On, on, I dreamily stray. 
Slowly sallying o'er sunny swells. 
Dilly-dallying thro' daisied dells. 
Or, by bushy banks where the low sun shines 
On shaded waters through tangled vines; 
Or, by garden walks which greatest please 
With their old-time flowered embroideries. 

All in holiday array ; 
Where peonies pose in their gayest dress, 
And Puritan pansy faces bless. 
And lilies loll in their loveliness. 
And holly-hocks, in their pride, no less. 

Their varied charms display. 



166 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Softly and soothingly over all, 
I watch the length'ning shadows fall. 
As the vestal eve with violet veil, 
Drapes the face of the day grown pale, 
While over the meadow's time-worn trail. 

The cattle are coming at call; 
Ah ! sweet the soul of the summer seems. 
In dreams — 

In bright remembrance and dreams ; 
In color and song, and thrilling throng. 

Of sweet etheral themes; 
Oh ! could I leave the city's heat. 
The frenzied rush of the crowded street. 
And far away from its riotous roar. 
Just one sweet summer know once more. 



SONG 
Sweet Irene 
I GAZE into your eyes, Irene, 

Upon your face so fair, 
But little do you dream, Irene, 

The dream that I see there : 
Reflected there the image sweet. 

Of a love of long ago ; 
A love I dare not tell, Irene, 

Tor none must ever know. 

You 've brought it back again to life. 

You 've waked it with your smile; 
Again the old lost love is mine. 

For just a little while ; 
Oh ! would that I were young again, 

Thou 'd be my Bonny Queen ; 
For seemetli real the old ideal. 

In thee — my sweet Irene. 



THE CLEAK CONSCIENCE 
'T IS he, alone, can grandly bear 

The world's supreme disdain, 
Whose conscience like the crystal air 

Hath ne'er a cloud or stain. 



167 



THE POET'S IXSPIRATIO:^' 

Good friends who ^ve noted me dabbling in rhyme, 
Of the poet^s fate, have warned me betime, 

And pityingly said, "Do n^t do it !" 
But little thought I of the fate of my verse, 
And far less I cared for the critic's curse. 

For sv/eet Muses compel me to it; 
And my heart — ah ! my heart tinkles thro' it ; 

Like fairy bells tinkles thro' it; 

As the Muses insist I shall do it ; 
As ever they guide me, where bright flowers hide me, 

And bury me deep in perfume; 
And a sweet girl vision again sits beside me. 

Mid hawthorne and wild rose's bloom. 

Ah ! that envious hawthorne, aflush in its glory. 
Stole her red blushes, as I told my heart's story, 

That old, old story confessing; 
But the wild rose gave us its blessing ; 
And the harebells in the breezes swinging, 
Eang, or seemed to be joyously ringing, 

A beauteous bridal blessing; 
And the locust o'er-burdened with honeyed flowers, 
Tossed them upon us in odorous showers, 
While around us the breaths of all of the bowers. 

Gathered in gossipy guessing; 
Then softly the birds wakened silences olden. 
And thro' the dream dingles, the sun filtered golden. 
That every leaf and bud might beholden 

Our love, and give it their blessing ; 

That old, old tale I 'm confessing. 
Which alone blooms immortal and never expires. 
Which the poet's pure soul with passion inspires. 

And which the Muses glory in blessing. 

Aye, 't is ever to me the Muses are calling, 

Like sweet cadenced bells, now swelling, now falling. 

Swelling and falling in soulfullest chimes; 
And at sound of their voices, my sad soul rejoices, 

And revels in rapturous rhymes ; 



168 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

And seem they to lead me, where echoes precede me, — 
(With that vision I love, they seem to lead me). 

Through halls of reverberant rhymes; 
Through halls enchanted, where my soul transplanted, 

Eambles and revels and riots in rhymes ; 
Then out where the violets sprinkle the meadows. 
And daisies nod in the brook at their shadows, 

Still rhyming, enraptured, I wander — 

(With my soul-mate enraptured I wander) ; 
And ever it seemeth in front of her, 
The feet of the fairies the flowers stir. 

While their odorous souls they squander ; 

On the amorous breezes squander; 
Then down by the heart of tlie woodland stream, 
Wliere the stars of the summer slumber and dream. 

In enchanted woodlands w^e wander; 
Wander, ponder and wander ; 

By spice-scented banks we ponder ; 
Where the slumbering pool, so calm and so cool. 

Dreams of its source in the mountain ; 
And the cataract seems to wake from its dreams, 

And sing of its far away fountain; 
Oh ! thou, my lost Love, who strayeth with me. 
Through the realms enchanted of poesy. 
E'en in death, my inspiration still bo, — 

The source of my song and my fountain. 



THE TEAE 

Of that which mightiest is in man, 

The tear 's the truest test ; 
The only animal that weeps. 

He governs all the rest ; 
Not less compact the mountain wall. 

From wiiich the fountain gushes; 
iNTor weak the heart when thro' the e3^es. 

The tear of pity rushes ; 
Ne'er brave the soul — fond, true, sincere, 
That ne'er was moistened with a tear. 



IF ANYTHING SHOULD HAPPEN ME 

The tears that flow from every eye, 
When patriots like our Lincoln die, 

(Stern guards of Freedom's portal), 
The larger hope to all men give. 
That liberty shall ever live. 

And that Democrac}^ 's immortal ; 
Of him who leads, no need have fears ; 
Whose heart springs to his eyes in tears. 



1()9 



IF ANYTHmG SHOULD HAPPEN ME 

When friends we leave and dangers brave, 

And farewells give, which hint of death. 
And silence of the horrid grave, 

Ah ! then we speak in muffled breath. 
And to such thought, give soft reply, — 

The thought that we may cease to be; 
And say instead of — "Should I die", 

"If anything should happen me". 

And tho' with Death, we all must rest, 

We still avoid his fatal aim; 
Tho' oft, a blest relief his breast. 

We shrink from mention of his name; 
We look upon his certain call. 

As some far off and vague decree; 
And say, as tho' 't would ne'er befall, 

"If anything should happen me". 

We say farewell, and leave to-day. 

And give advice of what to do. 
In spirit jocund, blithe and gay. 

Thus shutting death from out our view; 
Away we fly to mountains fair, 

Or to some sunny, summer sea, 
With ne'er a thought, with ne'er a care, 

"If anything should happen me". 



170 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Thus would I leave the scenes of life, 

^YheIl Death in earnest calls at last; 
No fear of future pain or strife, 

No thought of my imperfect past; 
Just let me live the best I know. 

Progressive, honest, fearless, free; 
No matter when or where I go, 

"If anything should happen me". 



THIS WORLD 

Why look to the skies, thro' sad longing eyes. 

With a faith firm, fixed and fond, 
And mournfully wait to pass thro' some gate 

To find a heaven bej^ond? 
Is not each night's sleep, a grave wide and deep. 

The grave of day grown old ? 
And our every morn a heaven new-born, 

With a palaced sky of gold? 

Aye, sleeping we die, in the grave we lie, — 

The day is forever dead; 
And from out each night, we burst into light. 

And Heaven about us is spread. 
Time — future and past — in one mold is cast, 

The Now is Eternity; 
And Heaven is here, and Hell, too, as near 

As 't will ever likely be. 

To the future wliy bow, instead of the Now? 

Why make it our dream of bliss? 
Why wait to begin to live without sin, 

In some other world tlian this? 
For Time is the same — Heaven but a name, 

A reward for faith, they say ; 
But the eyes not blind, their reward will find. 

In the duties of to-dav. 



UGLINESS 171 

Most beautiful themes have sprung from our dreams, 

To the future, still we 're blind ; 
How can there be joy, without some alloy 

If but one soul sorrows behind? 
How can peace and love thrill the few above. 

And joy e\'erlasting flow, 
When there 's no reprieve, for the many who grieve. 

In endless torments below? 

Ah ! if there should be, immortality. 

Hearts again must joy and break; 
Alike good and ill must commingle still. 

Or else, this world 's a mistake ; 
Joy only can flow from existant woe, 

N'o virtue without a flaw; 
Good and ill both end, when they cease to blend,— 

^T is Xature's eternal law. 

Then Heaven begins in the midst of sins; 

Xature hath no different days ; 
Ko walls and no gates, to divide our fates, 

No paths leading separate ways; 
Alike all are born, in this world forlorn. 

Together we breathe and grow ; 
And alike we die, and pass the world b}^. 

And nothing more do we know. 

Reward we have here, with punishment near. 

The darkness e'er blends with the light ; 
No joyful refrain, that hath not its pain,' 

No day that -hath not its night; 
And each night's sleep is a grave Vide and deep, 

Ihe grave of a day grown old ; 
And every morn is a heaven new-born, 

With its palaced sky of gold. 



UGLINESS 

There ^s none so homely, but you may trace 
In form and feature some beauty or grace- 
There's nothing about us, without or within 
Irredeemably ugly, 1)ut meanness and sin. 



KEMINISCEXT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



OH WHERE MY SOUL? 

Oh ! where my soul, thy next abode, 

When thoTi leavest this shell of clay? 
Wilt thou house thyself in beastly shape. 
And back to man return thro' the ape. 

In a slow and painful way? 
Or in spirit form wilt thou hover near. 
To guard, to guide, to soothe and cheer 
The sorrowing souls that held thee dear. 

In life's resplendent day? 
Or to some bright heaven wilt thou go. 
Where ecstacies like fountains flow. 
Where ne'er thou 'It hear of human woe. 

And in templed sunshine dwell? 
Or to torments dire wilt thou descend. 
And there in pain and anguish spend 

Eternity in hell? 
Thus men, as ever, question and guess. 
But still, all they know is nothingness; 
Why then, since the wise can not agree. 
Should it not be up to you and to me. 
To determine each his own destiny? 
Each choose his own Heaven and way thereto. 
E'en as differing theologians do? 
Each guess, e'en as they, wliere his soul may go. 
For, does not a guess end all things below ? 

For me, I would clioosc as I am to be. 

Imperfect, progressive, human ; 
AVith passion and fancy thrilled and filled. 

And the love of lovely woman. 
From planet to planet to wander free. 
Thro' the crystalline depths of immensity. 

Mid myriads meteors' glow; 
A seeker of truth forever to be. 

Some new truth ever to know; 

Not one, but all Heavens know; 
The stars be the way-side inns 'long my road, 
Where mv searchinsr soul mav find its abode. 



THE OLD CROSS-KOADS 1 < 'J 

Where old friends passing ma}' joyously greet, 
Where loves, long-parted, may rapturously meet, 
Where never arises a judgment seat, 

Xor a wrathful God on a throne ; 
Where the opportunity is given to all, 
To correct the errors which here befall. 

And to reach a higher unknown. 
Ah ! what faith hath a future one-half as sweet. 
What religion a Heaven as fair and complete, 

As that which we choose for our own ? 



THE OLD CROSS-ROADS 

As WE speed along life's highway, we can't help lookin' back. 
And tracing out in memory, each familiar path and track, 
That led thro' lane or wild-wood to our neighbors 'cross the 

way,— 
The wood and field-flowers bloomin' I see 'em still to-day; 
First, the dandelion and red-bud, the dogwood, haw and crab. 
The violet and May-apple, down where the waters blab, 
The black-berry by the fence-row, all spattered thick with 

white, — 
Oh ! ne'er again we tread such paths, or see such blossoms bright ; 
We tramp again the old dirt road, that circled 'round the hill, 
x\nd wound along the rocky creek, down past the dam and mill, 
Where the guide-23ost at the cross-roads directed night and day. 
The distance to the larger towns, some twenty miles away. 

There stood a dozen buildings which ne'er grew less nor more, 
Includin' shop and school house, and old Bill Sander's store ; 
'T was the center of a little world, to many folks around. 
Who 'd weekly meet to buy and sell, and problems vast expound ; 
Exchange their views about the crops, and health o' kith and kin, 
0' neighbors that were movin' out, and strangers movin' in ; 
0' township tax and 'lection days, and what was bein' done. 
By Congress and the President, way up at Washington; 
And some 'ould gather at the pump, and fill the empty trough, 
And others try at feats of strength, and show their bosses off; 



174 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

While others matched at playin' quoits, down by tlie blacksmith's 

door. 
And shouted when they 'd ring the peg, and count five on the 

score ; 
But none o' all the pastimes gave such genuine delight, 
As loatin' round old Sander's stove, late ev'ry winter night ; 
For want o' cheers, we 'd use a box, or several kegs o' nails, 
And sit and smoke, both old and young, and tell most wondrous 

tales, — 
Talk of politics and scripter and other argument, 
AVhile we burned the old man's cord-wood and never spent a 

cent; 
But he did n't seem to mind it — was all kindness jcs' the same. 
And often Jined the circle, for he liked his checker game; 
Talk about your wit and wdsdom, you 'd get it there and more. 
When we gathered winter eve'nin's, in old Bill Sander's store. 

We 'd spin some o' the quaintest yarns, and crack the queerest 

jokes. 
And indulge in harmless gossip about the neighbor folks, — 
Of parties, and big meetin's and quiltin' and huskin' bees, — 
Of the widowers a sprucin' up, and missin' none o' these; 
Of the love affair reported of old maid, — Sally Gibbs, 
And those a sittin' nearest, poked Si Simpson in the ribs; 
And how 't was told Dick Perkins was seen to ride away 
From Farmer Dixon's hitch post, 'bout three A. M. Sunday; 
How a crowd disturbed the sparkin' o' Ben Eiggs and Mrs. 

Crane, 
Callin' 'em out to pen the ducks, as it was goin' to rain; 
How some one climbed upon the roof at twelve or thereabout. 
And placed a board across the flue, and smoked the old boy out; 
How the preacher, havin' lost his wife, w-as grievin' in despair, 
And all the widders rushin' in — to give his children care, — 
And how 'twas whispered around about, concernin' Israel Knox, 
'At a big pink letter la}^ for a whole week in his box ; 
And when, at last, he came for mail, he got so bilin' hot. 
When we 'lowed he 'd come for /e-male, as probable as not, 
And when widder Banks, 'fore Christmas, came to buy a black 

silk tie, 
11 set ns all a guessin', and some winked a knowin' eye. 



DESTINY 175 

Why, bless your soul ! I see 'em all as if 't were yesternight, 
And hear their roar and laughter, when their wit was flashin' 

bright ; 
I 've loafed with swell companions — I 've travelled the country 

o'er. 
But never found a loafin' place, like old Bill Sander's store. 

I 've wandered back to the cross-roads, against the post I lean, 
And cast my eyes around me on the old familiar scene ; 
Xo friends come up to greet me now, as in the clays o' yore, 
They form no circle round the stove, they laugh and shout no 

more ; 
A few strange faces pass me by, a dozen at the most, 
Each wonderin' who the stranger is, leanin' 'gainst the post ; 
The farmers come no more to grist, in ruins stands the mill, 
No water dashes o'er the wheel, the burrs have long been still, — 
The old store stands deserted, shrunk to half its former size, — 
1 think of tliose who gathered there, and tears come in my eyes ; 
All, all have long departed — have scattered far and wide — 
But most have passed the crossing, they call the Great Divide; 
I see 'em still in mem'ry, an' I tliink I hear 'em say, 
"Bill Sanders an' the rest o' us, are witli ye here to-day"; 
Yes, I think I see 'em comin' from their distant dim abodes, 
An' they seem to gather 'round me, at the Old Cross Roads. 



DESTINY 



Like Prometheus Grey, each soul is bound 

To some grim rock of fate; 
No joy but with some grief is found. 
No laughter but with groans resound. 

No love apart from hate. 

The task which Destiny sets down. 

All men and things fulfill: 
The genius oft doth ape the clown. 
Before the fool who wears a crown, 
And savage saviors kill. 
11 



176 REMINISCENT KHYMP:S AND OTHEK YEKSE 

And strange the best oft die tlie first. 

The bad live on still strong; 
The choice of men will be the worst. 
And states be ruled by rogues accurst. 
And right up-bear the wrong. 

Distorted seems this fate, I ween. 
Which blends all life with woe; 
Oh ! how can nature be serene. 
So beautiful, so sweet of mien. 
If this be always so? 



HIS BEOTHER'S KEEPER 

PoREVER mankind is disputing 

And figliting for wealth and ph^ce, 
Each presuming to fix the standards 

Of every differing race ; 
When not by faith, it is then by force 
That each would prescribe the other's course. 

In the matter of believing ; 
His brother's keeper each nation would be. 
And, think of it ! subjects have even we, — 
, Our very selves deceiving : 
'T is thus the races are kept apart. 
By sacred strife and hate of heart. 

And endless pain and grieving. 

Alack ! Alack ! that men can not see. 
No single standard can ever be. 

For faith or law or morals ; 
Til at naught so foolish as to make, 
A straiglit higli-way for all men to take, 

When it only leads to quarrels; 
Alack ! Alack ! that men can not see. 
They 're made to differ more oft than agi-ee,— 

The truth through reason proving ; 
That since for their kind, all men will bk^>d, 
The only creed that any can need. 

Is the kindness boi'n of loving. 



BOBBY 177 



OEIGINAL SIN 

I MAY be weak, I may be blind. 
Thought like a flag in me be furled ; 

But I see no reason, just or kind. 

Why sin should have come in the world. 

As I observe the blood that flows, 
I faint and stagger at the sight ; 

The crimes, the cruelties and woes. 
Turn brightest day to darkest night. 

War, famine, hatred, vice and pain, 
The wail of woman, cry of child, 

Did / create, would fire my brain. 
And set me raving mad and wild. 

To say that these by Love were hurled 
On human kind, to me, seems odd; 

It it be true God made the world, 
/, certainly, would not be God. 



BOBBY 

I 'm referring now to Bobby ; 

You all know whom I mean. 
For very mention of that name. 

Wakes memories ever green; 
AVakes a universal heart-throb 

Of sympathetic cheer; 
Of pitying pain, and music's strain. 

And mingled smile and tear. 

So human good, so human bad. 

So manly, true was he. 
His passions, errors, high ideals 

In our own selves we see; 
We almost hear the wintry winds. 

Howl through his humble cot; 
But warm we grow, when him we know. 

And join him in his thought. 



178 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Then, for liis poverty we sigh, 

And say, 't was cruel — wrong ; 
Forgetful that from hearts that bleed. 

Is wrung the soul of song: 
^T would ne'er have done to 've gi'en him gear, 

For then his song had ceased; 
But for his pains, his sweetest strains 

Had never been released. 

Yes, genius needs must toil and starve, 

Must feel the wrongs that be, 
To wake the chords that sweet unite. 

Poor sad humanity; 
Must make all human woes his own. 

Must suffer his full part; 
'T is sorrow wrings the songs he sings 

From his despairing heart. 



TOLSTOI 

What soul with message to mankind. 

What mind ope to the day, 
Will heed what stupid ignorance 

Or bigotry will say? 
Will cower before the threat of king, 

Or scowling frown of priest. 
Their excommunication fear, 

Or vengeance in the least? 
Nay! Onward straight, pursueth he. 

The forward march of man. 
That leads to tow'ring steeps where none 

But eagle eyes can scan ; 
E'er leaving faint and far behind. 
The powers that warp, and bind the mind 
Of childhood and weak womtankind. 

And men's enslavement plan. 

Great man ! who dared to stand alone ; 

Who thought; and dared to make thought known; 

Great brain ! Who 'd have all others be. 

As free as he, himself, was free; 



IN THE FIGUT 



179 



Great heart ! That would men's sorrows heal ; 
Could self forget; for the humblest feel; 
Great soul ! that now from glory's height. 
To all the downcast, giveth light. 



m THE FIGHT 

Inscribed to Clarence S. Darrow. 

No LAUREL wreath e'er falls upon 
The cringing, coward looker-on ; 
On none but those who boldly don 

Their armor bright, 
And fired by valor, backed by brawn, 

Rush in the fight. 

With duty aye their first regard. 
The joys o' service their reward. 
They firmly stand the right to guard. 

And press the foe; 
Nor budge nor yield, however hard 

The thrust or blow. 

To dare the public's frown and hate. 

To stand for virtue in the state. 

To champion truth whate'er thy fate. 

And faults forgive, 
'T is this that makes the humblest great. 

The dead to live. 

"UHiat tho' the scowling bigot sneer. 
The purse-proud, narrow-minded jeer. 
And creed and custom count him queer, 

His soul 's his own ; 
No craven he to shrink or fear. 

He fights alone. 

Alone he nears the shining goal. 
Where high inscribed on Honor's scroll. 
The deeds of the undaunted soul 

Are blazing bright; 
For they whose names the fates enroll. 

Come thro' the fight. 



180 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Or else, in Freedom's hol}^ name. 
They fall; or unsubdued, proclaim 
From dungeon dim the tyrant's shame,- 

The truth 'gainst error; 
Ah! ne'er hath cannon, sword or flame 

Had half the terror. 

To lift the lowly to the height. 

To lead in thickest cf the fight. 

To stand, blood-dripping in thy might. 

In battle gory; 
To live or die for human right. 

Aye, there 's the glory. 



JEAN ARMOUR 

Let ither bards o' Bobby sing, 
An' thro' the warl' his praises ring, 

As King 'mang human; 
But gie it to me to sing a sang,- 
(I may be right, I can't be wrang). 
To Bonny Jean, the first amang. 

The queen o' woman. 

Sae gifted she wi' common sense. 
She didna on her laird commence. 

When in his glasses; 
For weel she knew how hard his fight. 
An' weel she knew his heart was right. 
However tcmptin' was the sight, 

0' witch in' lasses. 

Nae ither lass twixt Tweed and Dee, 
Had sic a taperin' leg as she. 

An' weel he knew it; 
Nane ither had sic bust or arm, 
Nane ither had a heart sae warm, 
Nane could her laddie cheer or charm. 

When hame-love he cam' to 't. 



JEAN AilMOUR 



181 



As once, frae his ain ingleside. 

Too late he strayed — Ach, mon ! betide I 

He gat a chiel; 
When mitherless, it soon became, 
(Poor baimiel wi^ nae daddy's name). 
What could she do? She brought it hame. 

An' cared for 't weel. 



What one of a' his loves sae fine, 
Wi' education, grace an' min', 

Wad done it? 
Wha thus wad shared his faults, as she, 
An' kissed, at last, his dying e'e? 
If for sic love, a cro^vTi there be. 

She won it. 

She knew his weakness, knew his worth. 
She knew him great 'mang men o' earth, 

An' praised he'd be some day; 
She knew he was nae common wight, — ■ 
She 'lowed for much cam' to her sight — 
(For poet's heads ain't always right), 

Sae let him gang his way. 

Had there nae been a Bonny Jean, 
No Bobby great, wad there ha' been; 

For death wad been his quittin'; 
But for her niither heart an' care. 
An' lovin', patient, kind forbear, 
His sangs, at least the greater share. 

Wad ne'er been written. 

Sae wi' his ain undying fame, 

I link sweet Jeanie Armour's name, — 

The twa togither; 
And now, where'er they chance may rove. 
By bank, or brae, or warblin' grove, 
May they be still as deep in love, 

Wi' ane anither. 



182 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHEK VEKSE 

POE 

The sense of poesy, from some source Divine, 

Inexplicably sweet, upon thee fell; 
And though thy words as clear as planets shine, 

Yet all the world doth wonder at their spell. 
"What spirit, luminous with unthought-of-thought. 

Flashed first across thy soul her Seraph wing. 
And of thy tuned spirit, the medium wrought. 

To speak such words as only angels sing? 
What souls, save Beauty and All-potent I.ove — 

Eternal essences of worlds eternal — 
Made thee their mystic instrument to prove 

Our earth-oneness with the life eternal? 
Thus Love and Beauty out of Heaven stole, 
And floated through the chambers of thy soul. 



PERSISTENT EREOR 

There 's naethin' half sae strange to-day. 
As seein' how far bright men '11 'stray, 
Gropin' blindly out o' their way, 

Frae Truth that 's a' around 'em ; 
An' how they'll sing, an' shout, an' pray. 

The better to confound 'em. 

An' how they'll spend life's dear estate, 
Groin' it early, an' goin' it late. 
For naethin' but to propagate 

Their muddled brain's confusions; 
An' more they preach, the more elate 

They are with their delusions. 

An' how they 'd rather sow the seeds, 
0' error mongst a crop o' weeds. 
An' lies o' polities an' creeds, 

Than poor weak men enlighten ; 
Or free their brains, assist their needs. 

An' a' their future brighten. 



PERSISTENT ERKOli 



188 



Persistently they organize 

To govern wealth, which they despise (?), 

An' corner a' the ancient lies. 

An' myths, for man's deceivin'; 
Tims, stuffed and gorged with faith's supplies. 

They ply the art o' thievin'. 

Aye, busy day an' busy night, 

For wealth an' power^ wi' main an' might. 

The devotees o' error fight, 

While those o' truth are sleepin'; 
WJiile justice stands with blinded sight. 

An' most o' men are weepin'. 

If only truth 'ould fearless stand, 
Ilnflinchin', free, courageous, grand, 
Wi' eye o' Mars, firm to command, 

Awa' 'ould fly grim error ; 
An' creed an' greed, that curse each land, 

An' fill the earth wi' terror. 

Oh Burns ! had I thy satire keen, 
That hypocrites might plain be seen, 
I 'd rip the false and brazen screen 

That hides their sacred faces; 
An' show there 's naethin' 'hind the scene. 

But ugly, mean grimaces. 

An' then a kick at truth I 'd take. 
An' gie her possibly a shake, 
To get her now and then awake. 

An' free her o' her palsies; 
Sae she '11 more oft the effort make. 

That error's makin' always. 

There's men all 'round who claim to be 
0' brave pretension, true and free. 
Who 're servile benders o' the knee. 

An' quail at holy curses: 
Nae honest man, but '11 'gree wi' me 

Their piety 's in their purses. 



184 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

! wad some power, here or awa', 
Let shame upon their conscience fa', 
x\n' gie 'em to see that truth 's a law, 

Admits o' no dispute: 
That 'mang vile whores, the lowest o' a', 

'S the mental prostitute. 



GOOD IX EVEEYTHITTG 

The more I know of human kind. 

The less do I expect; 
The more of goodness there I find, 

As well as ill detect; 
All life is made up of extremes, 

Beneath the shining sun; 
The positive and negative 

Are blent in every one; 
'T is thus all thought is rounded out. 

And narrow, dumb is he, 
[Who can't perceive that Nature's -laws. 

Are, as they ought to be. 

Constructive and destructive both. 

She keeps her equipoise; 
So gloriously endows and builds, — 

As mercilessly destroys; 
There's naught on earth was made in vain. 

No kindness nor abuse; 
A bitter drug may prove a cure, 

E'en poisons have their use; 
Essential is the bad as good, 

Each counterparts the other; 
And so I call all sinful kind, 

My neighbor, friend and brother. 

All peoples, races, by one Source, 

Imperfect were created; 
And none can take a separate course. 

So closely they 're related. 



ECCENTRIC LOVE 

All kinds it takes to make the world. 

All classes and conditions; 
No wise there 'd be, were there no fools, 

No facts — no superstitions; 
No rich there 'd be, were there no poor. 

No doubters — no deceivers; 
And neither priest nor heretic, 

AYere there no blind believers. 

There 's good in hunger, pain, disease. 

In poverty and sorrow; 
From which spring all our energies. 

And prospects of the morrow. 
There 's good, no matter how the bad. 

Prevails in man or woman; 
There 's good in all folks, high or low. 

Because good 's in the human ; 
And ne^er was man so lost to shame. 

So prone to vicious scheming, 
But still was left some noble trait, 

That well was worth redeeming. 

There's good in Buddhist, Christian, Jew, 

In Heaven and Nirvana; 
In Jap and Turk and Atheist, too, 

In Hades and Havana; 
There's good in plutocrat and wealth. 

There 's good in thief and miser ; 
There's good in Anarchist and crank. 

And good in King and Kaiser ; 
There 's good in politician, priest, 

There's good in all things evil; 
There 's good in God, I 'm ver^ sure. 

And even in the Devil. 



185 



ECCENTEIC LOVE 

Oh ! what so contrary will often prove. 
So whimsical, and even so vicious, as love? 
But strike from the soul its celestial light 
And man's bright day would be one long night. 



186 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHEK VEltSE 



LINCOLN 

He, in his life, played many parts. 
But most, in subjugating hearts; 

And for all time to be. 
Turned toward him every human face. 
And bondsmen made of every race. 

To his brio'ht memorv. 



HIT HARD 



If you have some task to do, 

Hit hard; 
Let each stroke be landed true. 

Hit hard; 
Distasteful though it be to you. 
Do n't let yourself get in a stew. 
Wade riglit in and get it through, 

Hit Hard. 

When a wrong you chance to spy. 

Hit hard; 
If you 're going to nail a lie, 

Hit hard; 
Should you pass it heedless by. 
It will never, never die — 
Be a man — the wrong defy. 

Hit Hard. 

If you have a truth to tell. 

Hit hard; 
Tho' 'gainst it all the world rebel. 

Hit hard; 
For welcome ne'er is truth at first. 
And he who speaks it will be curst. 
But speak it out — nor fear the worst. 

Hit Hard. 



HIT HARD 

When the iron — it is hot. 

Hit hard; 
If you 're playing for a pot, 

Hit hard; 
Success comes not to those who 're tame, 
Nor to the weak of will, or lame ; 
Go in with grit to win the game — 

Hit Hard. 

Should you have a vicious foe. 

Hit hard; 
Straight from the shoulder let it go, 

Hit hard; 
If, perchance, your blows be slight. 
You '11 be sure to lose the fight, 
Eush him fast — put out his light — 

Hit Hard. 

When those in power oppress the weak. 

Hit hard; 
Your best opinion, fearless speak. 

Hit hard; 
Xo right of King, nor right Divine, 
Can greater be than yours or mine; 
So stiffen up your spunkless spine — 

Hit Hard. 

When you come to Heaven's gate. 

Hit hard; 
Don't faintly rap and hesitate. 

Hit hard; 
To only those who 're brave and bold. 
Will open gates of pearl and gold. 
So face your fate like Knights of old. 

Hit Hard. 
And when you 're being judged at last. 
And make defense of all your past. 

Hit hard; 
Because imperfect you were made, 
Not yours the fault — do n't be afraid. 

Hit hard; 



187 



188 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Just bravely say — "I expect you to. 
Do by me, as I 'd by you. 
So go ahead, your durndest do. 
Hit Hard. 



A PEIMAL RIGHT 

There are rights of women and rights of men. 

There ^s rights of a thousand kind. 
But the very first that each should seek. 

And the very first to find. 
Is to sweep in front of our own doors. 

And our own business to mind. 
That the rights of one are the rights of all. 

All right-minded folks declare; 
But the primal duties should first engage 
Some very nice ladies of uncertain age, 

Who gentlemen's trousers 'ould wear; 
With a little closer acquaintance with men. 

For the ballot they little would care; 
Aye, there's ladies dear, reformers sincere. 
Who, for "monster man," have never a fear, 

And for grillin' him take the prize, 
Who'd be better off spankin' babies bare'. 

Or bakin' gooseberry pies. 



HAD I THE POWEE 

Had I tlie power, it seems to me, 
I would not curse a barren tree. 

When figs are out of season. 

And make it then to wither ; 
What tho' it bore me no sweet fruit? 
Prom its bare limbs I 'd make to shoot 
Anew its buds, and fe^d its root, 

(Consistently with reason). 

Ere I departed thither; 
That it might bless, some other day. 
Some hungry soul who passed that way. 



THINKIN OF GOOD THINGS WE USED TO HAVE TO EAT 



189 



THINKIN' OF THE GOOD THINGS WE USED TO HAVE 

TO EAT 

No MATTER where we wander in life's declining da}^ 
From our old associations we can never drift awa}*; 
The woods, the vales, the meadows, and the deep swimmin' hole, 
And our old school companions — ever dear to the soul — 
But of all the many memories that linger in the heart, 
That bring back the old times — of life the dearest part — 
There's none so fond and tender, so precious and so sweet. 
As thinkin' of the good things we used to have to eat. 

For it takes us back to childhood, when the heart was light and 

free. 
And the stomach never understood its full capacity. 
And everything we ate was good, from squirrel potpie down 
To the ear of corn we roasted to an appetizing brown ; 
Or the onions that we smothered in the old fireplace — 
Good to loosen up our cold, or to poultice up our face — 
Oh, everything was royal then, and for them all I sigh. 
From marble cake and quince preserves to dried apple pie. 

And I sigh for the basket picnics, held on Independence Day, 
When our mothers spread the dinners out, each proud of her dis- 
play; 
'T was indeed a day of freedom, 'neath the grand old forest 

shade. 
For a boy could reach and help himself and never feel afraid; 
And every one was welcome, and pressed to have some more. 
And enough was left, when all were done, to feed a hungry score ; 
Talk about your banquet halls and soft, luxurious seat, 
Give me the spread upon the grass 'round which we stood to eat. 

I see again the garden patch and the fields I used to hoe, 
'Way up in Adams county, in the long, long years ago ; 
And again I 'm shockin' fodder and gath'rin' fruit from trees, 
And burryin' winter apples when the ground begins to freeze — 
It 's there the native people, like the land, are mostly poor, 
But it 's there I long to banquet on the choicest things of yore ; 
And it makes no difference with them, if they have a crop or not, 
They 're never short of good things a bilin' in the pot. 



190 KEMIKISCEIST KHYMES AlsB OTBLR TEESE 

I Ve wandered long and far away and sampled bills of fare 
In boarding-house and best cafe to be met with anywhere; 
They 'd lots of things we never had at the old homestead. 
But no corn pone and Johnny cake and no salt-rising bread; 
'Nor pickeled grapes and peaches, and preserves of every kind. 
And plum and pumpkin butter, for which I long have pined; 
Nor the glorious jam and jumbles mother hid up in the shelves, 
When she spent the day a visitin' and left us to ourselves. 
They%'e markets to supply them with the choicest fruit and 

game. 
And the cookin' now and then is good, but somehow 't ain't the 

same; 
Ah ! boarding-house and swell cafe are both a glorious cheat. 
For they can't make the good things we used to have to eat. 

I 've dined at the St. Nicholas and feasted at the Grand, 
While music flowed in sweetest strains from an Italian band ; 
The service all was "a la mode," and the style was just immense. 
And variety — such as country folks never make pretense. 
But old-fashioned cobbler and apple dumplin's give to me — 
A pitcher full of creamy dip — ah, apple dumplin's, jubilee ! 
Glutton roast and sweet potatoes that no Frenchy chef can beat. 
And lots of other good things I used to have to eat. 

AVhen the preacher came on Sunday, that day of blissful rest, 
'T was then our mother hardest worked to make the eatin' best ; 
And we boys chipped in to help her, unusually sedate, 
]^)ut when the time for eatin' came, were told we 'd have to wait ; 
We stood it — 'cause we had to — and dare not make a fuss. 
But where 's the boy that ever lived, in secret did n't cuss. 
When told to take the back yard, when the preacher took hi^ seat. 
And had to feed upon the leavin's of the good things to eat ? 

We worked to get that dinner up against Divine command. 
And why we should work and the preacher eat, we could n't un- 
derstand ; 
So we gathered in the woodshed, 'stead o' runnin' out to play. 
And grumbled 'cause it always 'peared we boys were in the way ; 
But even then the leavin's seemed better far to me 
Tlinu Kniglitly banquet at tlie Grand, spread out in style I^irco; 



OCTOBER 191 

'T was because dear mother cooked 'em, oh, bless her loving 

heart ! 
Ever willing and a striving to be doing twice her part — 
Through blinding tears I see her still, with busy hands and feet, 
Going about the kitchen, gettin' good things to eat. 

So, no matter how the years fly, no matter where we rove. 
Our tend^rest memories gather 'round the old home kitchen stove. 
Where we built the fires o' mornin's, when the frost was on the 

pane. 
And its radiant glow soon brought a cheer no mortal can explain ; 
Oh, if only I could feel again as once I used to feel, 
Hangin' round the kitchen, helping mother get a meal, 
AVith the aroma from the oven giving promise of a treat, 
And indulgin' in ^the good things I used to have to eat. 



OCTOBER 

IN" THE HILLS OF ADAMS COUNTY 

Here will I seek to sing a song 

Among my childhood's hills. 
As thro' their haunts, the whole day long, 
I musing rove, sweet memories throng, 

And joy my bosom fills. 
All round the vales of tented corn. 

The Autumn spirit tender. 
With phantom hands has draped the heights. 

With scarfs of scarlet splendor; 
Sorrowing, lone, a few of the trees 
Look down on their wind-heaped traceries; 

Ah ! the year is growing old ; 

But not at heart is he old; 
For nature is only kindling her fires. 

To guard against the cold; 
And still, the Spring-time greeneries. 
And the Summer's tinted tapestries 

Blend with the Autumn's gold; 
With lavender, amber, and orange pomp. 

And Tyrian purple and gold. 



192 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

The saffron is on the sassafras. 

And the rust is on the brier; 
And the Persian reds of the wild woodbine. 
The aged stump and the fence entwine, 

And the dogwood is all aiire; 
The apples that hang on the naked bough. 

The larger and redder seem. 
And the maple leaves on the ford afloat, 
(Each bright arrayed as a Venetian boat). 

In gay procession gleam; 
And hungry as ever the honey bee hums 
'Mong the honeyless hearts of chrysanthemums. 
And other late flowers whidi make appear. 
That Summer will linger the whole of the year— 

A beautiful, beautiful dream; 
Ah! what is life, but a dear deceit? 
A longing, a hope — e'er incomplete, 
A Spring, which in Autumnal glory ends. 
And then with the chill of Winter blends, — 

Still ever a beautiful dream. 

With the golden rod and the sumach red, 

The roadway is gayly lined. 
As if some princely train had passed, " 

And left its plumes behind. 
The jutting steep in its Joseph's coat. 

Looks over the creek below. 
And mirrored there in its crystal depths. 

Is the forest's fairy glow; 
While purple splendors and crimson dyes. 
Blend with the opal haze of the skies. 

And brown-coated meadows below; 

And wheat just beginning to show; 

Oh ! a sweet, sweet day long ago ! 
A day of all days, when my soul was ablaze 
With the gold and glory of woodland ways, — 

How its mem'ry lingers and thrills ! 
Tor a sweet-heart I won, as the day was done, — 
Her face aglow with the glow of the sun, 
And the flush and blush of being won. 

Way down in the heart of the hills. 



OCTOBER 

When drunken the bees grow, more or less. 
Sipping the sweets of the cider press. 

Why say that the season is sober? 

Somber, serious and sober? 
For when doth nature such joy express, 
W^hen revels she in so rich a dress, 

As in riotous, red October? 
When have lawny glades so gay a green. 
Or the pines and cedars that rise between 

The russetted oaks of October? 
Tho' the Morphean music of Summer be hushed. 
Still, the robin's breast with red is flushed. 

And just as loudly he trills; 
And the redbird and jay make up in clieer. 
What the others take when they disappear. 

And as merrily bicker the rills; 
Oh ! the heavenly hues and the harmonies ! 
Oh ! tlie old time joys and the memories ! 
Oh ! the little schoolhouse among the trees. 

Hid deep in the heart of the hills. 

Thro' the tree-tops the tresses of twilight trail. 

And the scarlets are turning to grey; 
And the thistle-down, like a specter soul 
Of some late floweret — dead and pale — 

Into the nowhere floats away. 
And I think of all you, who long have strayed, 

As I, from the dear old hills; 
How you long to see again, as of old. 
The sunset weave its woof of gold, 

Down through the gap in the hills; 
How again you seem, to wander a-dream. 
Under the sycamores by the stream. 

Or, up thro' the heart of the hills; 
How 5^our arms spread wide with old home pride. 

While the whole of your being thrills. 
And you clasp to your heart, as if never to part. 

The heart of the dear old hills. 
Oh ! the old home-steads, and the grey old mills, 
And sleeping church-yards way down in the hills,— 
Way down in the heart of the dear old hills. 



193 



194 KEMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER YEKSE 



THE MILITANT MISSION 

"What one of all of Nature's wise laws 

More plain and clear in intent, 
Than that men in mind should vary in kind. 

And in belief be different ? 
And what presumption so great in man. 

As this, her law, to oppose; 
To arm and unite — a creed indite — 

And force it upon his foes? 
Ah ! Why can't we see as clear as the day. 
We should others help in their own way; 
A better Hindoo of a Hindoo make, 
'Stead o' killing him off, for Christ's dear sake; 
And the savage, too, black, yellow, or red. 
Make as good alive, as when he is dead ? 



TRUTH 



Truth, in small measures, like that of good wine. 

Is most soothing indeed, and calming; 
But indulged to excess, heats gentlemen fmc. 

And sets them disputing and damning; 
Those whom it enlightens, it irritates. 

E'en when it 's most plainly appearing ; 
For the bigoted brain unwelcomes and hates, 

Any change in its worship of fearing. 

All men desire truth to be on their side. 

But to be on its side, few want it; 
And strangely the learned are first to deride. 

And tlie pious the first to taunt it. 
The man who would venture ahead of his time, 

At once is regarded as hazy; 
And should he impart a new truth sublime. 

He's set down as hopelessly crazy. 

No truth ever came from darkness to light. 
But came on its knees a struggling; 

And once having come, it still has to fight 
A sly Jesuitical juggling; 



CHAKITY 



195 



Nor ever a truth was clearly believed, 

Nor a right a wrong succeeded, 
But thinkers have pined, and nations have grieved. 

As the selfish the truth impeded. 

Fair Daughter of Time ! At last crowned the queen, 

Over creed and custom and error ; 
'Bove the cowardly world thou standest serene — 

To the foes of all freedom, a terror; 
With Reason and Love, thou swayest all life. 

All faith, all law and all learning; 
And tho' ever opposed, and ever at strife. 

The world for thee ever is yearning. 



CHARITY. 



Charity, like kind nature's loving laws, 
Doeth the work of God in silence. Great minds, 
Like Him, are ever pleased with doing good. 
Seen by no man, and honored by no man. 
The secret paths of misery they tread, 
And from the sense of duty alms dispense. 
Feeling, that what they give, is still their own. 

But oft, too oft in these corrupted times. 

By faith, sweet charity is organized, 

For exploitation of its seeming good. 

And public advertisement of its w^ares. 

Too oft the face of faith doth wear the mask 

Of charity, to hide its selfish soul; 

And masking thus, the credulous crowd doth blind. 

To its own falsehoods, vanities and crimes. 

"Who asks for alms for God's sake, begs for two" ; 
AVho gives for God's sake, for his own sake gives ; 
Who gives in secret from the sense of love. 
Unconscious, flowers some barren human waste. 
That bears the sweetest perfumes back to him. 



196 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTIIP:r VERSE 

Xot naturally is charity received 

By man. To him of independent mind, 

The conscience fine, it soon depraves, when once 

The sense of self-support has blunted grown. 

"What man of noble thought and lofty pride. 

An object meek of charity would be? 

Well knowing that the first accepted gift, 

At once degrades him to the beggar's rank; 

Through sickness, poverty and age men toil. 

And suffer sore, such disgrace to avoid. 

Since Nature for all human wants provides, 

That each may have his honest share and more, 

The needs of charity are least of all 

Her prime intents. Not greatest then is she; 

AYere justice practiced by pretending men. 

Did jaded labor reap what it has sown, 

No need for faith and fashion to unite. 

In pompous show of largeness of their hearts, 

To give a crumb of all the mountain loaf 

They yearly rob from toil. 



THE MYSTIC SILENCE . 

Beneath the blue sky of October 

The evening mists hang red, 
As I stroll thro' the village grave-yard, 

Or stand among friends long dead; 
The sun, as he sinks in the gloaming. 

Draws after his golden bars. 
And the twilight opens her pinions, 

And sprinkles the dusk with stars. 

The moon rises over the woodlands. 

At which the lone watch-dogs howl. 
And along the hill-side and hollow, 

Comes the first complaint of the owl ; 
Thro' the withered tree-tops the niglit-winds 

Seem to sigh for the summer gone. 
E'en as I for the friends departed, 

AVhose dear dust I tread upon. 



THE MYSTIC SILENCE 197 

Oh! my friends in the mystic silence^ 

Come I now to test your power, 
To make yourself known to mortals. 

In this shadowy spirit hour; 
Be it true that you come to the vulgar. 

Give them power to hear and see. 
Then touch the fond eyes that have loved you. 

And reveal yourselves to me. 

Thou dear sainted ones of my household. 

My soul longs for thine to-night; 
And thine, my immortal loved maiden, 

Whose eyes still haunt with their light; 
And thine, too, my old school companions. 

And of manhood's glowing prime. 
Whose memories linger and dim not. 

But beautiful grow with time. 

Here I '11 lean on this hoary head-stone. 

Each harmonious condition fill. 
Have faith in thy being and presence. 

Be submissive to thy w411; 
I '11 recall all the tender home-ties. 

The love that my heart still craves. 
And again I '11 grieve o'er 3^our coffins. 

Or weep at your open graves. 

Or I '11 turn from mourning to gladness. 

To joy times of long ago, 
And together mid scenes we will wander. 

That our childhood used to know; 
We'll drink in the light of the morning. 

Run with the winds o'er the hills. 
Join in the chorus of wild-birds, 

Laugh with the ripple of rills. 

Oh ! so long, so long have I called you, 

As on many a night before, 
But never your voice breaks the silence. 

Never you hover me o'er; 



198 EEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

So, deep in my soul do I question. 

Since neither I hear nor see. 
That the dead ever came to others. 

Or else they could come to me. 

And I ^m sure in the past as the present. 

In heaven as here below. 
There never was spirit, but fancied 

From our keen desire to know; 
All the ghostly forms of tradition. 

But vagaries of the mind; 
All the present seeking and searching. 

But the groping of the blind. 

So, no shapes but the moon's weird shadows. 

Across the gravestones fall; 
No voice but of owl and of watch-dog. 

Or winds in the tree-tops tall, 
"Which continue to sigh for the summer. 

And mourn for its glories gone. 
E'en as I for the dear departed, 

.Whose bosoms I tread upon. 



THE HUMAN" HOROSCOPE 

Without wish of our own, we 're ushered in life. 
No glimpse of its sorrows fore-seeing; 

"Cnwelcomed by all, save only a few. 
E'en often by those, who give us being. 

Indifferent to all but a few we live. 

Indifferent die, decay and rotten; 
E'en as countless billions have come and gone — 

Eternally vanished — forgotten. 

Thus Nature creates, and thus she destroys 
Mystical man — mysterious woman; 

Alas ! that life is so matter-of-fact, 
And death so disgustingly common. 



TBAN SMIGE ATION 199 



TEANSMIGEATION 

Such an agreeable friend is Duke, my dog, 

I can hardly live without him; 
In a hundred ways he tries to please. 

And I never have cause to doubt him ; 
So partial to me, so loving and dear. 
So honest, faithful, frank and sincere. 
To lose his respect, I have such fear. 

That word and manner I soften; 
And as kinder I ^T grown to him I 've found. 
That kinder I \e grown to all around. 

And stoop to pity more often; 
More I pity all of the animal race. 
As in fear or trust, they look in my face — 
That mysterious look, in which seems a trace, 

Of fellowship with the human; 

A link in the chain of the human; 
A trace and a gleam of a soul, I seem 
To see in their eyes, which gaze half-a-dream, 

Like the love dawn in eyes of woman; 

Of w'orshipping, trusting woman. 
Great luminous eyes. 
Lit with awe and surprise. 
As if they seem straining to understand. 
The mysterious power of human command. 
And wherein that power lies. 

As if in their depths, imprisoned there dwell. 
An infant's image, or a spirit's spell. 

From the human torn asunder; 
Or as if some thought of their own, they 'd tell. 

Of far away worlds of wonder; 

Worlds of which men ever wonder. 
For the farther along life's journey we go. 
The more we wonder at the little we know. 

And at those who pretend to be knowing; 
Instead of killing the thinker, now-a-days. 
For his newest ideas, we sing his praise, 



200 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

And give him a decent showing. 
The world has been given so much surprise, 
That the blind, at last, have opened their eyes. 
And he is set down as the veriest ass, 
.Who doubts the most doubtful may come to pass. 

Any momexit, the old overthrowing. 

Thus ever the new takes the place of the old, 
But still in old mines is richest of gold; 
So, perplexed, I say, may it not befall. 
That the secret of life is here after all? 
Since from low to high is Nature's course. 
Then back, through decay, to our primal source, — 
Since up through the brute, we slowly ascend. 
To reason and genius, then backward trend. 
Then who can affirm, or who can deny. 
That in Duke's bright glance, a spirit I spy? 
A spirit grovelling up to the light, 
Up thro' the brute from the darkness of night? 
Who can fathom the deeps. 
The inscrutable deeps, 
"VATiich infinite Nature forever keeps 
Hidden from mortal sight? 
What primate, what poet, what savior or seer? 
Knoweth more than Duke the Why of the Here? 
Who knows if old Omar is imaged dim, 
Or Plato seeking expression through him? 
Or the faithful Pythias, or fervent Juno, 
Since with all of his soul, he loves me so? 
Since for me, he chooses to leave his kind, 
For the responsive ties of soul and mind? 
Since that human something, seen in his eye. 
Says for me he '11 live, and for me he 'd die ? 



However it mattereth little to me. 

For things will be as they're going to be; 

He, only, is happy, serene and wise. 

Who, to duties around him, directs his eyes; 

With love for guidance, with duty well done. 

Both this life and next are worthily won; 



THIS WARRING OLD AVORLD 201 

Who lives for the present, for the future lives, 
For Nature gives here all she ever gives. 
Throughout the great whole, one purpose her aim, 
One chemistry, law, growth and change the same. 
Then, why worry or bother as toiling we go, 
About that which we can not possibly know? 
'T will all come about, as it will some day, 
Tho' we laugh and shout, tho' we weep and pray ; 
Then give me here that blessing of wealth. 
Found only in freedom, labor and health; 
Give me honor and justice, and till my soul. 
With the beauty that brightens the somber whole; 
Give me spirit to mount to the starry skies. 
And to help as I go, the lowly to rise ; 
The worship of goodness, the gospel of clieer 

And barring the wrong, 
Fill me up full with the best that is here, 

W^ine, woman and song. 

Love — all the day long, 
And ne'er for the future have care or fear; 
Then, as onward thro' life I joyfully jog, 
No better friend do I want than my dog. 



THIS WAERING OLD WORLD 

He only a knowledge of this world gains 

At the expense of a hardened heart ; 
And tho' 't is a path of labor and pains. 

Yet from it, the worst would not part; 
'T is a comedy to all of those who think. 

And a tragedy to those who feel; 
We rise like the waves of the sea and sink. 

But never attain the ideal : 

So it never does to war with the world. 
For the world against one is too strong; 

And ne'er was the banner of Right unfurled, 
But was also the banner of Wrong: 



202 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

And so nearly these are adjusted quite — 
The conditions of good and of ill — 

That no one yet has made the world go right, 
And it^s certain that no one will. 

Forever baptized with tears and with bl-ood. 

Is this warring old world of ours; 
And only partial can be brotherhood, 

For earth has bo",h thorns and flowers: 
So no one is bound to make it go right. 

But each has his service to do — 
To know the right, and in the thick of the fight, 

Stand like a soldier, fearless and true. 



FIXED FATE 

'MONG questions that perplex my mind. 

With this, I ^^e often striven ; 
Why fixed should all our future be? 
What punishment — what cruelty — 

So great, as that of Heaven? 
There, by one class of serious saints. 

For evermore be ruled; 
With them forever doomed to stay. 
And in naught else save their own way. 

Directed be and schooled; 
Compelled forever there to live, 

'Mong mansions gay and gaudy; 
For evermore and then a year. 
With folks we never cared for here — 

(Some good — some very shoddy) ; 
Queer such a fate, it seems to me. 
When big enough. Infinity, 

Should be for everybody. 



ROMANCE AND HISTORY 

As LONG as true lovers are single. 
There ^s romance in being free; 

But alas ! it endeth with marriage, 
For then begins history. 



THE HUMAN LEVEL 



203 



THE HUMAISr LEVEL 

''That which befalleth the sons of men, befalleth beasts; as 
the one dieth, so dieth the other ; yea, they have all one breath : 
so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: all go unto 
one place; all are dust, and all turn to dust again. Who shall 
bring man to see what shall be after him?" 

—Ecclesiastes 3 : 19-22. 

There ^s a few reasons more, it may be allowed. 
Why the spirit of mortal should not be so proud ; 
The first is, that no one, whatever his pretense, 
Has more than he knows what to do with of sense ; 
There 's no one so wise who has brain stock to spare. 
And lucky is he who has one common share : 
And there 's no one so good, but better might be. 
Aye, the best of us, bad enough are, you '11 agree ; 
Xo blood is so royal, but still ma}^ be found 
A streak more honest in a faithful old hound ; 
And there 's no one so rich, but dying would give 
All he has and much more, just a poor cuss to live. 

Forever alike, to all folks yawn the grave, 
And poorest is he who lives only to save, 
Or to dwell in a mansion instead of a hut, 
And in front of j. hilosophers swell up and strut ; 
There's nothing at which human nature will pause. 
To gain but a hurrah of worthless applause ; 
From station of shepherd, to altar and throne, 
Men write, spite and fight, and e'en die to be known ; 
And ne'er till Death's shadows are over them cast. 
Do they learn it amounts to so little at last ; 
That life is a highway, sown mostly with weeds, 
Which to death and the grave and oblivion leads. 

Then what is the use to get swelled in the head, 
When it matters but little if you 're living or dead ? 
Why big feelings have, when a stray puff of wind 
May fill the small space you fill with your mind? 
When forgotten you ^11 be in less than a day, 
Though you turkey-cock half of your life away: 



204 REMINISCENT BHYMES ANJ5 OTHER VERSE 

Know ye not, when at last life's chute you shoot, 
"No preeminence you '11 have above the brute ?'' 
That no greater regard, grim death has for you, 
Than for the poor bullock you slaughter and chew? 
Too much over human importance we fuss: 
We feed on the brute, and the worm feeds on us; 
E'en best of it oft, have the ass and the ox, 
Tor ne'er do they fear that they '11 get in a box ; 
And ne'er have they worry, distress or concern. 
If they sizzle or sing, or keep cool or burn; 
But so far as we 're able the future to trace. 
All alike, so we're told, go to the same place; 
That the future of one is the future of all. 
And no man after him, knows what will befall. 

Aye, to rank and to station, our lives may be bound, 

But to a dead level, all come in the ground; 

Then, less by our pride should we measure our worth, 

Than the size of the hole we fill in the earth ; 

We may heap it up high, and mark it with care, 

But in time, none would guess that a hole was e'er there; 

Nor e'er dream that the dust within it once thought. 

Aspired to be god-like, loved, hated and wrought; 

Aye, we all disappear from sound and "from sight. 

Like lone winds unheard, that steal by in the night; 

Or the surge's mournful and mystical roar, 

That drifts to its death on some desolate shore; 

Or the bubble that bursts in the crystalline air. 

And forever and ever is gone — but where? 

Aye, as silently down to the earth we go, 

As the fall of a snow-flake on fallen snow; 

Nor doth genius even, leave more of a trace. 

Than the track of a cloud through scintillant space; 

Or the flight of the falcon that fades away. 

In the deepening dusk of the dying day. 

Both in life and in death, we but live in degree. 

And the greatest, in time, vanislieth utterly ; 

Then since the whole o' mankind 's, a will-o-wisp crowd, 

"Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ?" 



JUDUE ]SOT 205 



JUDGE NOT 



Considering how mankind are bred, 
Considering how tliey 're housed and fed, 
Considering how they 're wrongly taught, 
Considering how they 're warped in thought, 
No wonder, in this life's mad fight, 
They err, when most they think they're right. 

And most the wrong detest; 
'No wonder, since by ignorance curst. 
They sometimes do their very worst. 

When trying to do their best. 

There 's no accounting how or why. 
Some, tempted, stop, and some go by; 
Who knows the circumstances all. 
That lead good men to sin and fall? 

Who capable of judging? 
Who, full of faults himself, should cast 
A guilt upon another's past. 

And meanly go to smudging? 

No crime there be, no human shame. 

But all men should abhor it; 
But seeing the world so out of joint, 
I 've just about come to the point. 
Of ceasing in my heart to blame 

Poor erring mortals for it. 
Those low of brow, of body bent. 
Act chiefly from environment; 
The criminal to his nature true. 
Does only as he 's bred to do ; 
Not always his the fault, but more. 
The laws that made, and keep him poor. 
The rich upon the wretched prey. 
The wretched starve and mob and slay. 
And e'er prevails a deep mistrust 
Twixt all, that none can e'er adjust. 



206 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTPIER TERSE 

E'en he, with instinct fierce to kill. 
Up through the brute is struggling still; 
And not so very far behind 
Ourselves, is he; for, groping blind. 
Are, more or less, all human kind; 
All primed for war, for faith to fight. 
Coercing thought, dictating right; 
Alike the brute-mark on each brow; 
Alike all do as they know how; 
As men, so nations, armed to slay, 
The tiger in their souls display; 
When mighty grown in numbers strong, 
They rob the weak, nor think it wrong. 

So, no accounting how or why. 
Men wrongly do — the low or high; 
Each, subject is to climate, soil. 
To race and breeding, thought and toil. 
And all alike put to the test 
Of human weakness, do their best; 
Good, all men do from loving trust; 
Sin all men do because they must; 
So, let me then more gently judge. 
And more of pity have than grudge; 
And let me not too greatly blame. 
For none, but by the beast-way came; 
None perfect made, all sometimes weak. 
Then, of men, gently let me speak; 
And in the whole, a striving see. 
Toward a broader, blest humanity. 



'^BEVARE OF THE YIDOWS'' 

A WIDOW I never could marry, 

Ko use! — we could never agree; 
I 'd live all my life without a wife, 

If I lived to a hundred and three; 
I could silence keep at her frown or command. 
And saucers, and skillets, and rollin'-pins stand. 

But not a dead maris licad thrown at iiie. 



THE PUKSUIT OF WEALTH 207 



LOVE, THE TRANSFORMER 

'T IS love that crowns the sufferer's head, 
And makes a throne of his joyless bed ; 
'T is love that softens the toilers lot. 
And a palace makes of his rustic cot ; 
'T is it, from the heart, drives hate and strife, 
And peace and friendships give to life; 
Which a poet makes, and music to pour, 
From the soul not musical before. 



THE PURSUIT OF WEALTH 

Money, wealth, how made, how spent, is the last 
And final test of man. 'T is not in faith 
Or creed all honor lies. He who with love 
And faith and grace be large possessed, must first 
By gold be tempted, and the dollar weighed, 
Ere his true soul be known. Few men, 't is said, 
But have their price. x\ll down the human line. 
From king to serf, men honor, buy and sell, 
And traffic in the weaknesses of men. 
Such is the guilty basis of great wealth. 
Still, men must money have, some more, some less; 
Money is power. Its acquisition tends 
To awaken energy and resolve. 
And gives to unambitious, sluggish minds 
A needful, healthful exercise. With wealth 
Comes noble opportunities; the ease 
And leisure that refines ; the thrilling sense 
Of independence; industry and art. 
Invention and discovery it promotes; 
A rich wife procures; credit, standing, fame; 
E'en beauty wins, and noble pedigree; 
The friend most certain in distress and need ; 
The nation's main defense in time of war. 
Her pulse-beat and her breath of life. Thus woiilt]i, 
By frugal acquirement and swift exchange, 
Doth set in motion all the sluggish world. 
And ne'er, but in excess, should be despised. 
13 



208 KEMIXISCEKT KHYMES AXD OTHER VEKSE 

The two extremes, therefore, excess and want, 
Are human nature's greatest ills, from which 
Proceed most all our woes. Life 's a conflict 
In wliich each man of value covets that 
Which he hath not, and which the other hath; 
Now up, now down the Have-nots and the Haves, 
Now out the Ins, now in the greedy Outs. 
But oft hath poverty no just excuse 
For its own dire miseries. In him, endowed 
AVith normal health, 't is e'en as great a crime 
To have too little as to have too much. 
On dreams and glory men can not exist. 
Of value, then, is wealth for human needs, 
From want and nature's ills securing man. 

A modest competence, therefore, must e'er 
Be each man's proper ohject of pursuit ; 
That, once acquired, wealth, just for love of wealth. 
Becomes a peril and a blight — a foe to all 
The sweet humanities. Poor, patient toi]. 
Unlearned in craft and selfish schemes of trade. 
The easy prey becomes of base monopoly; 
Monopoly — which oft the genius starves. 
And robs sweet childhood of dear opportunities. 
O'er countless thousand lives it spreads its blight, 
I^olitics, courts, and congresses corrupts. 
And e'en religion's holy font contaminates. 
The simple teachings of the Buddh and Christ, 
Allied to force, and gencralled by wealth. 
The world to war and woe and ignorance doomed. 
Ne'er freedom was, but first it had to pass 
Thro' prison fetters wrought from hoarded gold. 
'Twixt liberty and lust of wealth and power 
There e'er exists one never-ending strife. 
Kings, lords, and priests, in order to maintain 
The honors and the ease to which they're used, 
Against each other fierce contend; or else 
The weaker nations rob and slay. To death, 
As to a feast, they lead the common herd, 
"\\Tio, stuffed with foolish faith and patriot pride, 
Lay down their simples lives, that these may sport 
And pastime make of the mad game of war. 



THE PURSUIT OF WEALTH 209 

Ne'er useful in possession, then, is gold, 
Excepting as we part with it. Not what 
We have, but what we normally enjoy, 
Constitutes our abundance. The excess. 
For which we have no use except to hoard. 
By right belongs to those despairing ones 
Who it produced, and whose uplifting each 
Superior man's concern must be. Who art tliou. 
Poor fool, to hide thy hoard? to pile it high 
'Mid suffering and want? Doth not the moon 
And lambent stars as bright and equal shine 
On servant, slave, as thee? In sickness, pain. 
Dost thou not feel its impotence as they? 

Vain, fleeting things are life and wealth. Who boasts 

Of riches, weak judgment shows. The next hour 

May snatch them from thy grasp, and quarrelling hands 

That thank thee not, divide them. Beware thee. 

Then, of making them the desire supreme 

And passion of thy mind. In gaining them, 

Much pain they bring; in losing, nmch sorrow; 

Ne'er were they known to save man from the grave, 

And where thou goest, thy wealth thou canst not take. 

A finer hearse and shroud, a few more flowers, 

And gathering great of curious friends, 

And flat'ring speech, at which the knowing smile. 

And then, the common lot, the grave, the worm. 

And the eternal silence. What counteth, then. 

Thy heaped up pile of shining dust ? 'T is naught 

Beside one blood-red blossom of the brain 

That flings its incense on the winds of time ; 

Still with high souls the soul of Horace blends; 

Who cares for Croesus and Lucullus now? 

Let not, therefore, the rivalry for wealth 
The sepulcher become of thy sweet passions; 
Weigh thou thy mind against the love of gold. 
Whose best successes bide alone with life. 
In sufficiency, not in excess, thy 
Greatest joy must lie. What mattereth it? 
'T is better far to seek that which we love. 
And it the master passion make. On love, 



210 REMINISCENT KHTMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Of home and Imnian kind, thy fortune build. 

To invent some new thing of general use. 

That softens down the drudgery of toil; 

A new thought produce, or cure effect; 

A statue carve, or deathless song compose; 

A principle evolve, or error. prove; 

A sun discover in the star-strewn sky; 

A fact that drives the myths from brains of men ; 

Or gift of science, whose keen searching hands 

Wave wide the wand of progress o'er the world — 

Aye, greater, grander far each one of these 

Than Eothschild's golden hoard to leave behind. 



WHEN THE HOUXDS STEIKE THE TRAIL 

Kever gone coon huntin^ ? Then you nothin' know of sport ; 
Of a night within the forest, deep and dark and vast. 

Your only light the sky, 

And the stars shining high. 
Or the full moon thro' the tree-tops sailing swiftly past; 
Of the deep breathing stillness, broken only by the owl, 
Or the weird, fantastic night-wind's low and mournful wail, 

When suddenly you start, 

And joyous leaps the heart. 
As the hounds give the signal of having struck the trail. 

"Wow ! Wow ! Wow-oo ! Wow, Wow-oo I" thro' the crisp, f]-osiy 

night, 
hi wild, exultant concert their deep mouths swell and bay; 

Now loud, then faintly dim. 

As they trail 'round the rim 
Of the hills or up the hollows, a mile or more away; 
And louder swells the chorus as nearer still they come, 
And they break from the timber and dash across the vale; 

"Wow-oo! Wow-oo! Wow-oo!" 

'T is music sweet and true, 
AMiicli ihc hounds make coming, bounding warm.upon the trail. 




And now they clamor by with reverberating shout, 
"Wow ! AVow-oo ! AYow ! Wow ! Wow-oo I'' breaking lond upon the 
breeze ; 

How it thrills with delight. 

In the hush of the night, 
As it rolls up the hollows and is tangled in the trees ! 
All at once a sudden silence settles on the air. 
Broken in a moment by a long, concerted wail. 

Informing Dick and me 

They\e cooney up a tree. 
And they^re waiting for our coming at the end of the trail. 

211 



213 

And soon the chips are flying from our axe's swift blows, 
A merry music malving with each hound's excited bay. 

As they all circle 'round, 

Each sitting on the ground. 
And looking up and panting for the glory of the fray. 
I 've sat me at the opera when visiting the town. 
Where, in a painted forest, they'd music sweet for sale; 

But fairer far the wildwood. 

That charmed me in my childhood, 
And sweeter far the music when the hounds struck the trail. 

When I leave my forest home for the palace in the skies, 
There a thousand angel voices in chorus loud will ring; 

And ever and a day 

They'll sing and chant alway 
Hallelujahs and hosannas and praises for the King ; 
'T will be thrilling, sweet, and fine, and ecstatically divine. 
But I fancy in the ages 't will grow a little stale ; 

And again I '11 long for earth. 

And the dear place of my birth. 
Just to hear once more the music when the hounds strike the 
trail. 



OLD FIN WILSON'S SON 

Knevs^ all the folks lived in this town. 

From sinner up to preacher ; 
From infant class at Sunday school. 

To oldest Bible teacher; 
Knew all the talk o' women folks, 

'Bout sweethearts an' thar matches ; 
KJnew all the farmers round erbout. 

An' all the melon patches. 

Knew every herb, from g-inseng up, 
Wuz certain cure o' mother's: 

Field balsam, Injun turnip, poke. 
And forty-'leven others; 



214 EEMIXISCENT EHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Knew all the sngar-camps an' nights 
When they stirred off the 'lasses, 

Which, spread on buttered hot yeast-cakes, 
No eatin' e'er surpasses. 

Knew every bird's-nest an' its eggs. 

An' knew the bird 'at laid 'em ; 
Knew every pig-path in the lanes, 

An' Imew the pigs 'at made 'em ; 
Knew ev'ry calf an' cat an' dog. 

An' ev'ry fightin' rooster; 
An' when Bill Brewster's cock licked mine, 

I up an' licked Bill Brewster. 

Knew ev'ry shell-bark an' paw-paw. 

In forest, field, or heather; 
Could tell ez well ez old Joe Shaw, 

Erbout the signs o' weather. 
Knew all the milk cows in the town, 

An' all the mules an' horses; 
From Josh Bailey's glass-eyed, spotted mare. 

To pacer of Bill Morse's. 

Folks big an' little all knew me, 

An' I knew everybody; 
E'en certain strict tee-to-tal-ers, 

Who slyly took thar toddy ; 
Fer boys know all the ins an' outs 

0' good an' bad folks doin's ; 
What they do n't know ain't worth the knowin' 

Erbout suspicious cooin's. 

An' now I 'vo wandered back at last. 

But strange are all the people ; 
They 've cement sidewalks 'long the street, 

A new church with a steeple ; 
The old schoolhouse, I see, is owned 

By a fellow named Sam Thacker; 
One end is used fer storin' wool. 

The tother fer terbaccer. 



OLD 

Ez long I gazed at its old door. 

And ample hall an' stair, 
I thought o' all the boys an' girls 

Who 'd entered with me, there ; 
An' lickin's, too, I often got, 

Fer mischief I wuz bent on ; 
An' teachers, who'd my makin' been, 

But most o' Lucien Fenton. 

Ez slow I scanned the ink-smeared walls, 

A feelin' strange came o'er me; 
Fer names o' schoolmates still waz there. 

Who 'peared to rise afore me. 
Fer two bright names, together linked, 

I searched until I found 'em ; 
Beneath the dust o' years concealed — 

A heart still circlin' 'round 'em. 

They 've got a new town hall, an' bank. 

An' changed are many places ; 
But not a change seems half so sad 

Ez change o' ol'-time faces; 
My ol' companions all have gone. 

My schoolmates an' m}^ cronies — 
The Do3des, De Bruins, Eamsays, Longs, 

The Rothrocks an' Maloneys. 

I 've wandered up an' down the town. 

All day like one forsaken ; 
No welcome hand in mine is placed, 

No fuss o'er me they 're makin' ; 
Jes' found two old folks 'at I knew, 

Rees Smith, and Liza Nilson; 
Then soon 't wuz noised around 'at I 

Wuz son o' ol' Fin Wilson. 

'At 's all I know of folks to-day, 

An' all they know 'bout me ; 
Jes' 'pears 'at I 've been blotted out 

0' the old town's memory; 



215 



21() liKMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VEKSE 

An' ez I 've walked along the streets 
'At once I loved so dearly, 

"When all knew me, an' I knew them. 
Folks stared so cold an' qneerly. 

Then more an' more I found my heart 

Fer ol' companions yearnin'. 
An' presently my aged steps 

Wnz towards the graveyard turnin' ; 
So, here among thar graves I stand. 

Or, reverent, w^ander slowly. 
An' drop my tears on them I loved — 

No place e'er 'peared so holy. 

An' since I 've come to realize 

How fast toward death we 're trottin', 

'At even in the midst o' life 
Most old folks are forgotten. 

Ain't keerin' a continental when 

- At last my race is run. 

If ne'er a stone should mark the grave 
0' "old Fin Wilson's son." 



THE HYPOCEITE 

Observe him closely, and you will trace 
That Sabbath mask on his fawning face; 
Each look and line depicting a lie. 
And a conscience trained to treachery; 
"Witli whom each sense of justice and right 
Is but the means of some gain in sight; 
Who the woes of poor humanity bears. 
Not out of his pockets^, but in his prayers; 
Who on tales of scandal giveth the frown. 
With one eye up, and the other eye down; 
Who thinks two ways in all that he thinks. 
While piously promiscuous in his drinks; 
Who is ever directing his footsteps above, 
When not dallying down the line of love; 
Oh ! be there a hell, none for it more fit 
Tlian that sneaking snake — the hypocrite. 



CLASS 1^ 1 7 

THE WOEKIN' CLASS 

AS VIEWED BY UNCLE BEN"^ AN OLD VILLAGE PHILOSOPHER 

Ye kin argy on till doomsday 

'Bout classes an' thar rights, 
^Bout 'em 'at toils, an' 'em 'at do n't. 

An' 'em 'at thinks, or fights. 
An' how you 're goin' to 'just 'em, 

But one thing 's sartain — plain — 
The workin' class is the poor class. 

An' '11 likely so remain. 

Per they jes' keep on producin' 

All 'at the whole must eat; 
Ain't got ernough o' gumption 

Ter keep from bein' beat; 
Fer the millionaires 'at skin 'em. 

An' spiritual lords they shout, 
An' fight thar battles fer 'em, 

Never askin' what's it 'bout? 

Thus they work 'em to a frazzle. 

Then curry-comb each spine. 
An' kindly tell 'em how to vote. 

An' march 'em straight in line; 
An' all prices they fix fer 'em. 

Both what they sell an' buy, 
Fix thar wages as they 'd have 'em — 

Mostly low, an' seldom high. 

Pay thar gals three great big dollars 

Fer sellin' goods all week. 
Then expect 'em to be happy. 

Contented, moral, meek; 
Every want o' soul an' body. 

From three dollars they must squeeze, 
'At dogs an' cats an' horses 

May n't want fer luxuries. 



218 KKMIXISCENT KHYMES AND OTIIEK YEKSE 

It 's the toiler wears the cheapest clothes. 

An' eats the plainest grub ; 
It 's his child 's in the sweat shop, 

His widder at the tub ; 
It 's his girl sell in' her body 

An' soul to swinish lust. 
All because he trusts in others 

More'n in himself he '11 trust. 

Fer he won't apply his thinker 

Ner gumption to good u?e, 
So he jes' remains a stinker, 

An' gits deserved abuse ; 
Jes' stays right in the poor class, 

An' 's used like any tool, 
'Cause he will persist in bein' 

A durned, infernal fool. 



SUCKTX' THE SAP FEOM THE OLD SUGAR TREE 

Whex the sun begins a drawin' the frost from out the ground, 
'Long the last o' February, my heart leaps with a bound; 
For it 's then I fall to musin' on the springs o' long ago, 
When buds began their swellin' and the sap its upward flow : 
Thro' the rough bark, slantin' downward, I bored the augiir 

holes, 
Which filled with nature's nectar, the drink o' poet's souls — 
Here 's lookin' at 3^e ! xVll the boys, who with their straws, like 

me. 
Stood 'round the trunk an' sucked the sap from the old sugar tree. 

In modern mixicology they 've drinks both new an' strange. 
But the sugar-water method o' drinkin' doesn't change; 
Sure, there never was invention improved upon the straw. 
For the reason that the relish is doubled with the draw; 
Whether lemonade or julep, or punch or creme-de-mint. 
Or cocoa-puff or cobbler, of the gods it gives a hint ; 
But never could ambrosia so delicious seem to me 
As the sap I used to suck from the old sugar tree. 




The nearest that could come to it, accordin' to m}^ tongne, 
"Was suckin' up the cider from out the barrel's bung; 
Or likewise in the cellar drinkin' mother's ginger beer, 
Who 'd oft declare the shortage seemed to her "a little queer ;" 
Oh ! ho ! for the days o' boyhood, an' the springs o' long ago. 
When buds began their swellin' an' the sap its upward flow; 
I 've sipped the ales o' London and the nectars o' Paree, 
But let me suck the sap again from the old sugar tree. 

219 



LXCLE BEN 221 



UNCLE BEN 

SIZES UP SOME FOLKS AND THINGS 

Thar 's some good folks 'at 'sume to know 

The whole o' future fate ; 
An' e'en afore creation's dawn, 

0' then they will relate ; 
Both the will o' Natur' an' o' God 

They ack'rately make out ; 
An' all betwixt both eends o' time. 

They prove 'ithout a doubt. 

Thar's millions 'ithout knowin' why. 

Drop in this way o' thinkin'. 
Unconscious o' the blind conceit 

At which they 're daily winkin'; 
Jes' made it up they know it all 

About divine intention. 
An' o' any honest doubt o' same 

They can't bear any mention. 

An' on this basis they direct 

The affairs o' all things human ; 
A few men think fer most o' men. 

An' none consider woman ; 
The State, it keeps the soldier armed. 

The Church, it howls damnation. 
An' 'twixt the two the toilin' slave 

Is jes' a poor relation. 

Fer me, I 'low 'at Natur' knows 

Consid'rable more 'n I ; 
'At I with her, 'stid o' her with me. 

In all things must comply ; 
With other folks jes' like myself 

I 'm not obleeged to think, 
No more 'n to eat jes' what they eat, 

Er drink jes' what they drink. 



222 liEMINISCENT RHYMES A.ND OTlIKli VKJJSE 

Who 'magine when they leave this earth, 

Whar they go, I should, too ; 
But ^cause I do n't 'pear least consarned, 

They fret and threat and stew ; 
AVhy should I want to live 'ith them, 

Eternally up thar, 
When I 'm not a bit perticular 

'Bout livin' with 'em here? 

AYhy Natur' made things good an' bad, 

I can't Jes' clar define, 
But she'll adjust her own marliine 

'Ithout put-in o' mine ; 
An' them who think 'at they 've the right 

All human thought to steer, 
Ez well may try to bag a star 

A million miles from here. 

An' them who think 'at thought an' speech 

They 're goin' ter regerlate 
By brandin' thinkers, Annerkists, 

An' 'plyin' laws o' State, 
Ez well may try to stop the sun 

From silverin' the sea ; 
Er grab a cyclone by the tail, 

Ter check its liberty. 

They 've made poor woman, fust an' last, 

A prayin' machine an' breeder ; 
A beggar an' scrubber fer the Churcli, 

While it 's her mental feeder ; 
They stuff her full o' faith an' fears. 

An' spirit'al milk an' honey ; 
It 's by gittin' her they git the man, 

Then both the poor fool's money; 

But men are now bcginnin' to larn 
'At they must have free mothers ; 

An' less an' less do women's minds 
Take thar beliefs from others ; 



UNCLE BEN 

All' far less anxious now they are 

About the preacher's eatin' ; 
An' strange, 'i- jinks ! how they spunk up 

An' speak right out in meetin'. 

What poor folks need, the rich folk cry, 

Is "liberty, not license;" 
But both they corner fer 'emselves, 

'Cause most folk ain't got pie-sense ; 
An' what they need, the clergy howl, 

Is "pardon an' salvation;" 
An' freedom — jes' enough to toil 

Fer them, like all creation ; 

Ter plow an' weave, an' drudge an' build, 

An' never sulk nor grumble ; 
An' go 'ithout the things they make. 

With spirits meek and humble; 
Ter kneel an' worship, sing an' pray, 

'Ith the "liberty" o' givin' ; 
An' thank the few who 've cornered life 

Fer the "license" jes' o' livin'. 

Thar 's girls 'at weave silk all thar lives. 

But none they ever wear ; 
Thar 's laborers buildin' palaces, 

'At 's homeless everywhere ; 
An' so, uneven down the line. 

The whole o' life 's adjusted. 
Because mankind, 'stid o' themselves, 

A few sleek thieves have trusted. 

^At 's jes' the way, to Uncle Ben, 

Things seems ter be a-goin' ; 
But now an^ 'en the fools '11 turn, 

An' git to better knowin' ; 
An' Avhen the same dose they ram down 

The throat o' the other feller, 
Then, like a bull whose tail ye twist, 

Oh, Lord! how he'll bell or. 



223 



224 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Thar 's women well ez men has got 

A will 'at 's all their own, 
An' Church an' State they '11 both upsot. 

But they '11 make it known ; 
They 've got some rights they 're goin' ter have, 

An' the fust is Liberty ; 
If they 're to mother free-born men, 

AVhy should n't they be free ? 

The rich can't keep the toiler yoked 

By tryin' ter do his thinkin', 
Fer out o' soil 'at they despise 

'LI sprout a Burns or Lincoln ; 
An' Voltaires, Spencers, an' Tom Paines 

Keep springin' from the masses. 
An' tower among the priests an' plutes 

Like gods among jackasses. 

Tho' Natur' made all men an' things 

In size an' thoughts unequal, 
It warn't on faith and millions 'at 

She based her jewelled sequel. 
But rather on the genius rare 

'At faith an' wealth can't smother, 
An' which crops out in all mankind — 

In one class well 's another. 

It 's plain she made some folks fer faitli. 

And others to dispute; 
An' 't warn't fer them 'at reasons some, 

AVe 'd all be two-thirds brute: 
Jes' why among the kickers she 

Placed me, I do not know ; 
But s'pose she wanted me ez I am, 

Er she would n't^ — made me so. 

Since she seems satisfied with me. 

An' both are gittin' along, 
I ain't got time to bother 'bout 

Salvation diner an' done:; 



UNCLE BEN 

She made me good, an' made me bad, 

Mixed angel with the clay; 
But which wuz of the larger part, 

I ain't prepared to say. 

But some folks think the 'mount o' earth 

Is 'bout sixteen to one ; 
An' I reckon what they think they think 

Is 'bout as thinkers run — 
At least the kind 'at thinks the world 

Is patterned on thar plan ; 
That they 're "braw dogs," an' rest o' folks 

Are only tail an' can. 

Our pious friends mean well, I know. 

Least aim at meanin' well, 
But strange they 'd charge the God they love 

With sich a crime ez "Hell;" 
I may not fully comprehend, 

Xor know jes' wliar I 'm at. 
But chargin' God with Hell— Wal ! / 

Think more o' God 'an 'at. 

So, I 've been sizin' up some things. 

An' reached this stoppin' pint, 
'At Natur' '11 save all she has made, 

TJio' she made things out o' jint; 
'At fer a purpose good an' true 

Slie made me ez I am ; 
An' I credit her with better sense 

Than her own work to damn. 



225 



IMPERIOUS FASHION" 

To follow the mode, both women and men 

Oft make it their greatest passion; 
Linked to the last to society. 
Even Heaven itself would nothing be, 
If they did n't die in the fashion. 



226 REI^nNISCENT RHYMES AMD OTHER VERSE 

UXCLE BEN 

riGGERS ON PROFIT AND LOSS 

It 's nateral 'at men should try to obtain 

A big part o' what others earn; 
An' few 'ould praise God, ef they did n't expect 

A mansion from Him in return : 
So, a matter o^ business is life 's affairs, 

Ez well as affairs o' the next; 
Least it 'peared that w^ay to me to-day, 

When the parson preached from this text — 

"What profit to men, should they gain the earth. 

An' thar own souls finally lose?" 
In other words. What ^ould thar souls be worth 

Ez soulless the}^ stood in thar shoes? 
AVal ! 'at depends, Spears to me, on the kind 

An' size o' the souls they possess; 
Eer souls o' to-day, ez rated with worlds. 

Will bring considerable less. 

'At question alius 'peared foolish ter me, 

Fer never a man 'at I know, 
Er heered of, gained the whole o' the world. 

An' whar his soul goes, he must go; ■ 
So, it sot me tliinkin', which seems the most sense. 

To take the text at its worth, 
Er reverse it, an' say — "^Yhat profit yer soul, 

Ef you lose the ivhole o' the earth?' 

Eer the earth is here, an' the soul is here. 

An' each to the other belongs, 
AVith thar mingled pleasures, troubles, an' tears. 

An' love- joys, sorrows, an' songs ; 
This world, 'pears to me, wuz planned fer the soul. 

An' the soul wuz planned fer it: 
Else the Lord a mis'rable mess o' it made 

In attemptin' to make 'em fit. 



UNCLE BEN 227 

Them 'ai preached so much the value o' soul, 

An' o' its destiny sublime, 
When they 've got to make choice 'tween it an' the earth 

Hang on to the earth every time; 
An' they '11 chance the soul takin' keer o' itself 

In whatever future thar be; 
Fer naterally men want thar profits here. 

An' not in eternity. 

Ef men wuz ez cautious acceptin' faiths 

Ez they are in swappin' a hoss, 
An' 'ould take account o' thar stock o' beliefs 

Ez they do o' profit an' loss ; 
Ef the same. keen reasonin' they'd apply 

To thar politics an' thar creeds, 
Ez they exercise in business affairs, 

They 'd soon grow out o' the weeds. 

Ter git right down to the truth o' the thing. 

The value in actual pay, 
'At masters an' magnates place on the soul. 

Is ez low ez three cents a day; 
In army an' navy they 're trainin' poor fools 

Each other ter fight an' kill. 
Whose bodies an' soul combined are no more 

To them than a small dung-hill. 

They 're killin' the savage 'at stands in thar way, 

Jes' crushin' thar souls 'neath thar feet; 
An' o' women ez well, who in poverty pine, 

Er barter thar souls on the street; 
An' the souls o' children, 'at feed on. flowers 

An' the air o' medder an' shore. 
Are 'prisoned an' bound, an' thar sweet songs drowned 

By the factory's riotous roar. 

Why, thar 's statesmen '11 sell thar country's soul, 

Ez well ez thar own, fer gain; 
An' warriors who yearn fer the glory reaped 
By the number o' souls they 've slain ; 
14 



228 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER YEKSE 

An' thar 's kings an' priests to maintain thar power, 
'Ould deluge the earth with a flood; 

An' 'ristocrats, who 've no use fer a heart 
'Cept pumpin' thar own blue blood. 

Lay not up the treasures o' earth, they teach. 

But in heaven bank your sum; 
An' the more the poor invest in the Lord, 

The richer the rich become: 
An' jes' ez the master induces the slave 

To the practice o' sedf-denial, 
More certain is he o' happiness here. 

Less certain the slave arterwhile. 

So, '^What profit the world to losin' your soul ?" 

Is nothin' but preachin' fine 
'At rulers an' prelates employ to hold 

Thar unthinkin' slaves in line: 
Ter the poor o' the earth, who gain thar souls. 

But gain what they can not lose — 
Wuz they half ez wise ez thar masters are. 

The world every time they 'd choose. 

But it is n't alius the fault o' the strong 

'At the weak are made to weep, 
Fer sheep '11 be sheared, an' sheep '11 be killed, 

Ez long ez sheep '11 be sheep : 
Sich folks ez are lambs 'ith no buttin' brains. 

An' alius a shepherd mindin' — 
Should they lose thar souls, they would n't be worth 

The lookin' fer, nor the findin'. 

The lamb from the fold 'at '11 stray away, 

An' in a pen ye can't confine, 
Hez got more soul, an' 's worth more 'n the whole 

0' the bletherin' "Ninety an' Nine" : 
So, the fetterless mind, 'at wandereth free — 

'At ye can't confine in a pen 
By party or creed, 's worth more indeed 

Than a thousand fenced-in men. 



UNCLE BEN 

Ef we^•e all got souls ter be saved er lost, 

An' the good Lord fer 'em cares, 
He'd trust 'em to some other Trinity 

'Sides Bishops an' Bulls an' Bears : 
Jes' seems somehow, to yer Uncle Ben, 

Conditions different should be; 
An' so they would, ef I wuz the Lord, 

An' the Lord, ef He was me. 



229 



UNCLE BEN 

SEZ HIS SAY 

0' ALL the strange things beneath the sun. 

The very strangest, say I, 
Is 'at men should their oppressors crown. 

An' thar saviors crucify; 
Tho' self-interest be the common law 

Tow'rd which ev'ry bein' trends, 
Still most are the friends o' thar enemies. 

An' the enemies o' thar friends. 

A brute er a fool they choose fer king. 

An' dress him in peacock array, 
'En saalam low to thar royal clown. 

An' yield to his tyrannous sway; 
An' even in countries ez free ez our own, 

Jes' ez servile the masses grope, 
Content 'ith the mere permission to live, 

'Ith no other prospect er hope. 

But the lab'rin' man ain't the only chump 

Upon which I 'm goin' ter pass, 
Fer Natur', in parcelin' out her fools. 

Did n't confine 'em to jes' one class : 
Jes' ez labor truckles ter rank an' wealth 

In this king-hatin' land o' ours. 
So the rich are sellin' thar daughters' souls 

To degenerate titled powers. 



230 REMINISCENT KHTMES AND OTHEK YEESE 

An' even the brains o' children they sell, 

Er surrender to priestly sway, 
Ter be kneaded to faith, an' cramped in a mold, 

Jes' ez potters fashion thar clay : 
Thus shrunken an' shrivelled, an' warped an' shaped, 

To fear, superstition, an' hate, 
ITorever error an' war they befriend. 

And poverty perpetnate. 

Thar's two streaks o' yaller in most o' men. 

So yaller, ye can't help bnt see. 
An' one's intellectual cowardice, 

x\n' the tother's snob-oc-ra-cy ; 
N"or law, nor religion '11 ever direct 

This old world in a better way, 
Till the rich '11 base thar wealth upon love. 

An' the poor '11 bravely say thar say. 

An' when 'at happy day shall hev come, — 

The happiest the world ever saw, — 
Thar '11 be little need o' theology then. 

An' consid'rable less o' the law: 
Fer the nearer a level extremes become, 

Jes' ez soon ez most men are free, 
'En the man o' honor an' man o^ brains 

The true measure o' mankind '11 be. 

An' thar's jes' one way to hasten 'at time. 

Each one his own thinkin' must do; 
No matter how many opinions you cross, 

Keep the truth, ez you see it, in view: 
Ef you 've got a thought 'at '11 free mankind. 

Don't hide it high up in yer shelves; 
Ef you 've got no money ter give away, 

Ye kin give a lot o' yerselves. 

Ye kin give a word o' kindness an' cheer, 
An' ye '11 never once miss the gift ; 

An' a helpin' hand to the man 'at's down. 
An' ye '11 stronger grow fer the lift; 



Ye kin loosen the bands o^ blind belief 

'At 's bindin' his brain ez with bars ; 
An' raise his face to the glowin' sky. 

An' give him a glimpse o' the stars: 

But remember 'at often this requires 

The goin' it o' all alone; 
An' remember the music 'at love inspires. 

Is the music o' sweetest tone: 
Seems to Uncle Ben it 's jes ez plain — 

Plain ez anything kin be, 
'At the reason 'at men are toilin' slaves 

Is 'cause they do n't try to be free. 

Then the duty it is o' every man 

Who has drank from Liberty's well. 
To hold the same draught to the prisoned lips 

0' the many, enslaved by the spell, 
'At has bound 'em to custom, caste, an' creed, — 

To faith, superstition, an' fear; 
Thar 's no other way ; men must say tliar say, 
. Er they '11 never git freedom here. 

Fer 'at 's the key-note each man must sound 

Who 'd justice an' progress obtain ; 
Ter think his own thought, an' say his own think. 

Independent o' other's brain; 
Ye kin bet Uncle Ben, 'fore he'd allow 

Any other his thinkin' ter plan, 
'Ould jump in a hole, an' pull the hole in, 

Than be sich excuse of a man. 

In a hole he '11 be, sure enough, 'fore long. 

He 's already ordered his stone ; 
'T won't be very big, nor have much on, 

But enough fer to make it known, 
'x\t free he lived, an' ez free he died; 

'At he showed many others the way; 
Should ye pass, take heed; jes' stop an' read — 

BENJAMIN BEOWN, 

HE SED HIS SAY. 



282 KEMINISCENT KlIYMES A^V OTHEK VEKSP: 



UNCLE BEN'S LAST JOURNEY. 

This poem is meant to depict the departure from life of a 
brave, independent, philanthropic mind, ne'er disturbed by the 
threatenings of faith, or fears of the future — who dies as he had 
lived, naturally. 

Good-bye, old world, an' folks ez well. 

Good-bye unto 3^e all; 
I 'm goin' away fer quite a spell, 

An^ can't say when I '11 call 
This way agin. Fer me do n't fear, 
But o' yerselves, take best o' keer, 
Ez long's ye hev to hang out here, 

An' slave, an' fret, an' stew; 
Eer me, I 'm goin' to emigrate, 
Whar all o' you must, soon or late, 
t To diggin's strange an' new; 

Whar same ez here, ez like ez not, 
The temperture 's both cold an' hot, 

An' each kin hev his choice; . 
So, I 'm passin' round ter say, farewell, 
Afore I go, an' wish ye w^ell. 
An' tell ye what I 've got ter tell. 

An' with ye all rejoice. 



It 's nateral fer the human race, 

Ter keep upon the go; 
An' now an' 'en, a change o' place. 

Is best thing 'at I know. 
An' when a feller 's goin' away 

Upon a long pertracted stay, 
Course, he feels sad, ez well ez gay. 

But gayest 't is with me ; 
Eer I 'm just a little tired o' life, 
An' its continual care an' strife. 

An' feel like bein' free; 
I 've seen the most 'ats ter be seen, 
Had joys a plenty, sorrow keen, 



UNCLE BEN 233 

An' friends both good an' true; 
But everything seems gittin' old, 
Like tales a thousand time been toldy 
So, I 've fixed affairs, the last thing sold. 

An' here 's fer startin' new. 



I 've got no creditors ter slip, 

Xor 'pologies ter make; 
My grip is packed fer the long trip, 

'At I expect ter take; 
Jes' whar 't will eend, I do not know — 
Got no pertic'lar place ter go, 
'TJ take things ez they come, you know, 

Tho' I drift Xorth er South: 
Tlio' I go to some temp'rate clime, 
AYhar things are fresh most all the time. 

Or whar thar 's alius drouth : 
Hev stood it here, '11 stand it there. 
Be climate bad, er climate fair, 

No pleasure 'ithout pain; 
It 's friction 'at makes polish sure. 
An' he 's no 'count 'at can't endure, 
A little trouble on his tour — 

The drv ez well ez rain. 



'T wuz never meant 'at man should feed, 

Entirely upon joy; 
But 'at the pure o' thought an' deed. 

Be mixed with some alloy; 
Xo doubt, I '11 meet with strangers tough ,- 
Smooth part the way, an' often rough. 
But firm, I '11 welcome each rebuff. 

An' dare the blow, not budge; 
I spec' whatever God thar be, 
Is goin' to hev some use fer me, 

Xor'll be too hard a judge: 
'At He '11 accept men, great an' small, 
Jes' ez He made 'em, faults an' all, 



234 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

When first He framed His laws; 
'At all His work, He'll wisely scan. 
An out o' that returned, He '11 plan 
To mould it back into a man, 

"With less o' flecks an' flaws. 



Erbont my trip, 'at 's all I know. 

An' 'at is mostly guessed; 
Jes' like folks here, who up an' go, 

Way out into the West: 
Who feel that things '11 better be, 
In parts 'at 's strange an' new an' free. 
So off they go right merrily, 

Glad when the day comes 'round: 
0' course I '11 miss good friends and true. 
But folks soon take up 'ith the new. 

An' by new ties are bound; 
An' arter while ef to thar place, 
Should chance ter come an' old-time face. 

They 're wild 'ith keen delight : 
Jes' so, these goin's and comin's are. 
When we strike out fer some new star. 
An' havin' camped in space afar, 

x\n' old friend comes in sight. 



Hev got ter take the train at noon 

'At 's how I hev ter go ; 
Will look fer you in a balloon 

Within ten years er so; 
Will tell the folks I chance ter see, 
'At you '11 be 'long eventually,- — 
We '11 all be thar ter welcome ye, 

'En you, like me, '11 find, 
It ain't so hard to quit life's race, 
Each fightin' fierce fer wealth an' place, 

An' goin' it mostly blind; 
Nor quit the fashion an' the style. 
An' jealousies 'at vex an' rile, 



L.NCLE BEN 

An^ foibles, hate an' strife; 
Kor quit the cares 'at I recall. 
The disappointments 'at befall. 
Ambitious, dreams, ideals all, 

'At fret out human life. 



Old times, old friends, green fields an' trees, 

I '11 oft gaze back at you, 
When from enchanted distances. 

You still 'pear fair to view : 
But well I '11 know you 're mostly grievin'. 
An' likely cheatin' an' deceivin', 
Lovin', prayin', preachin', thievin', — 

The usual old routine — 
Borrowin', sorrowin', sufferin', laugln'n', 
Toilin', idlin', eatin', quaffin', — 

Alternate good an' mean; 
Ye '11 still be strugglin' fer a name. 
An' puffin' up with 'magined fame, 
At which, I '11 hev ter smile ; 
An' some I '11 see, who 've reached the stage, 
0' the philosopher an' sage. 
Who, racked with pains, an' comin' age, 

'LI ask, "Wuz 't worth the while ?" ^ 



285 



Wal ! once agin, good-bye an' shake ! 

An' do n't be lookin' sad ; 
What messages ye have, I '11 take. 

An' 'at makes leavin's glad: 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! let 's shake again ; 
An' fer sake o' old times, now an' 'en, 
Jes, drink a health to Uncle Ben, 

An' give a rousin' cheer : 
So hand ter me my cane an' grip, 
Fer I am off upon my trip, — 

The train is almost here : 
Take keer yerselves, jes' every one, 
An' out o' life git all the fun, 



28G KEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

An' health 'at ye can hoard; 
Fer should ye live ez long ez I, 
You '11 find 'at when ye come ter die. 
The only true philoso-phy, — 

("All aboard! all aboard!") 
Is health an' fun ! Good-bve ! Good-bye ! 



THE REA^EL IN THE BEEAST. 

Ah! the loving thoughts that revel, 

Eevel in each breast; 
Revel in each secret longing, 
Which like angel bands come thronging. 
To help lift up to our level. 

All of earth's oppressed; 
Ah! the loving thoughts that revel. 

Revel in each breast. 

Ah ! the wishes I have made me, 

Made me in my mind; 
Made at sight of pain and sorrow. 
That I might make bright the morrow, 
That I might have wealth to aid me 

Help sad human kind; 
Ah ! the wishes I have made me. 

Made me in my mind. 

Ah ! the fortunes I have given. 

Given from my heart; 
Given to sick souls and weary. 
To the homeless, friendless, drearv. 
Those, who to despair are driven. 

And with life would part; 
Ah ! the fortunes I have given. 

Given from my heart. 

Ah ! the wealth that I have squandered, 

Squandered from my soul; 
Squandered on poor genius starving. 
In his garret, painting, carving, 



A LEADING OCCUJt^ATIOX 287 

As in dreams of fame he wandered, — 

Perished at the goal; 
Ah! the wealth that I have squandered, 

Squandered from my soul. 

Ah ! the gifts that I have lavished. 

Lavished on Jtny friends; 
Lavished houses, gold and pleasures. 
From my heart's exhaustless treasures. 
All my wealth of riches ravished. 

Serving noble ends; 
Ah ! the gifts that I have lavished, 

Lavished on my friends. 

Ah ! the hours I 've spent in dreaming. 

Dreaming thus in rhyme; 

Dreaming of the joy of giving. 

Fortunes to the worthy living, 

First by thousands — then by gleaming 

Millions at a time; 
Ah ! the hours I 've spent in dreaming. 

Dreaming thus in rhyme. 

Ah ! the loving thoughts that revel. 

Revel in each breast; 
Revel in each secret longing, 
Which like angel bands come tlironging. 
To help lift up to our level. 

All of earth's oppressed; 
Ah ! the loving thoughts that revel. 

Revel in each breast. 



A LEADING OCCUPATION 

A THOUSAND occupations has man. 

As diverse as the needs of the human ; 
But none of them make him hustle and hum] 
And keep his wits on a hop and a jinu]). 
Like that of divinino: sweet woman. 



238 KEMl^slSCE^T KHYMKS AIs'D OTIIKK VEKSE 

HOPE. 

Tho' the human vision ne'er hath pierced 

The infinite horoscope, 
Tho' full of doubt the mystic unknown^ 

Still fuller it is of hope; 
Delusions, our longings mostly may be^ — 

No hand a shadow can grasp, 
Yet from the future we glimpse a new life, 

And spirit visions we clasp. 

As the sun the radiant roses meet, 

Each stretching towards him her heai-t, 
And their odorous souls grow faint with the love. 

His amorous rays impart, 
Even so, may not the Source of all life, 

With these human souls of ours. 
As faintly blend and communicate, 

As the sun with the soulg of flowers? 

Feeling, believing, and wishing it so. 

It courage giveth to men. 
As from mystic voids come whispering sweet, 

Thou wilt surely live again : 
And high on the crystalline arch of life 

We think we perceive the real, 
As Hope with her iris pencil portrays, 

A promise of the ideal. 

Ah, hope ! sweet hope ! to the prisoner, joy. 

To the sick and wretched, health; 
On her golden wings the tenement poor. 

Are wafted to mansions of wealth; 
The homely, the dull, the crippled, deformed, 

Both wise and beautiful grow. 
And thro' halls of fame, the ploughboy treads. 

As he muses adown the row. 

With an expectation of some sweet good. 

Each fancy it entertains; 
To the aged clings, when never a joy 

Of their far, bright youth remains; 



BETTER OFF DEAD 



239 



A flatterer oft, as well as a friend. 
Fallacious and rarely true; 

Yet beyond the furious sweep of life, 
A heaven it opens to view. 



BETTER OFF DEAD. 

AVas called to a house away in the night; 
No, not to a house, but up a dark flight 
Of long narrow stairs, to a small back room, 
"Where a faint light flickered amid the gloom, 
And cast weird shadows o'er the woe and want. 
And wretchedness, which the tenements haunt; 
And a widow's heart sobs broke on the air. 
As I bent o'er her infant, dying there; 
Good neighbors had come, in kindness of heart, — 
The women, of course, each to do her part; 
Always woman at birth, woman at death. 
Angel ait coming or passing of breath. 
Soothing, they lingered, each mingling her tears, 
With the widow's sobs, or calming her fears; 
But when the first sunbeam lit up the day. 
The baby's sweet spirit floated away; 
Away o'er the green hills of meadow and corn. 
To blend with the blushes of bright'ning morn. 
And the kind folks, in whispers, softly said, — 
"Poor little darlin' ! Better off dead !" 

Saw a man die who had just passed his prime. 
And his friends all said — "He died just in time ;" 
With fortune he 'd struggled ever in vain ; 
Toiled early and late, with might and with main ; 
Liberal perhaps, a little too much; 
With ever a free, helping hand, for such 
As won his pity, or called him "dear friend;" 
Generous to family, eager to lend 
The whole of his strength for those of his heart, 
And up life's steep hill, give them a start; 
And tho' he did much, he ne'er could do more, 
Than simply keep even, and run his store; 



240 KEMIXISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER YEESE 

For all things against him seemed to combine, 
Till at last, he crossed the fatal dead-line; 
Business fell off, and his friends grew few, — 
He 'd lost his grip — what could s. "has-been" do. 
But peddle around and observe how shy 
Were former friends when he sought them to buy. 
Tho^ cheerful he worked, there was but a trace 
Of the light of other days in his face ; 
So "he died just in time," the few friends said, 
''Poor old fellow ! Better off dead !" 



Ah ! that such thoughts into being should start ; 
And cannily creep through a human heart ! 
Ah ! the millions, living just for the day, 
Who, "Better off dead," to themselves oft say; 
Oh ! why midst this plenteous, beauteous earth. 
Should any one wish they 'd never had birth ? 
Why should mothers around a cradle sigh. 
And say ^t is better an infant should die. 
Ere birds had sung for it, or waters purled. 
Or wondered its eyes at this wondrous world? 
Or that toilers in prime of life should dread 
The coming of age, and wish they were dead? 
Yes, sure there 's a Justice will even up 
The foam and the dregs of Life's bitter cup; 
And the drink of one shall be that of all, 
A swallow of sweet, a gulp of the gall ; 
And tliose who eat shall be those who work, 
And no one his share of duty shall shirk; 
And the selfish, cruel, and the money-mad 
Will take their place with the worst of the bad. 

So welcome to toil, and welcome to strife. 

But welcome all to tlie riglits of this life; 

The rights of the babe to be born aright; 

To breathe healthy airs, neath the soft sunlight; 

To feast its senses on color and song. 

Where brooks through green fields babble along; 

To be nourished on thoughts, joyous and free; 

To grow up feeling it glorious to be; 



THE WAGE SLAVE 

With the light of heaven bright in its face. 

Thus fitted to bless and increase the race. 

And welcome to age the ease it has earned, 

To teacher and thinker, who vain wealth spurned ; 

Whose toil and whose thought were given to bless. 

And to add to the whole world's happiness. 

Oh, that each of the wealth of his heart would give. 

That all might think life lovely to live, 

Oh, that rich and poor together would strive. 

To make each one feel "better off alive;" 

For of all sad words that ever was said, 

None half so sad as "Better off dead." 



241 



THE WAGE SLAVE. 

It was a frequent remark of Eobert Burns that he could 
conceive of no condition so mortifying as that of a strong man 
hunting and begging for work. 

If there 's ought in life I fain would shirk, 
'T would be to beg and grovel for work ; 
Tramp from shop to shop and store to store. 
Or fall in line at an alley door, 
Like starvelings come for a hungry bite 
Of the only charity in sight; 
Thus join the wan faces" down the line 
Some almost void of the spark divine, 
Some stamped with high ideals and pride. 
And some with the shame they can not hide. 
That thus they must beg some master to give 
Them, the poor bare privilege to live; 
Be subject to his command and rule, 
Of his machine be a part and tool; 
Bondaged in body, debased in mind 
To the lowest level of human-kind; 
Of all the riches which Xature gave, 
Possessed of naught — a poor Wage Slave; 
Employed to-day, to-morrow cast out, 
To beg for work, or to roam about 



242 KEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

With ever the thought and haimting dread 
Of wife and children waiting for bread. 
Humbled, despairing, naught else in view. — 
0, heart-sick toiler! I pity you. 



And you, ye women over the tub. 
Whose lives are one continual rub, 
And ye in sweat-shop and garret dim. 
Whose cup of sorrow o'erflows the rim; 
And ye dragged down to poverty's brink. 
By the woe of want and the curse of drink; 
And ye who stitch mid squalor and dirt 
Maintaining life at three pence a shirt — 
Maintaining only, of all the flood 
Of 5^outh's bright dreams, a few drops of 1)1 ood — 
Stitching, because you have found a friend 
Who'll keep you stitching until the end; 
Wearing out lingers, wearing out eyes. 
And the look and light that glorifies; 
AVcaring out bodies, wearing out brains, 
'Till but the longing for death remains ; 
And you, ye maidens, modest and meek. 
With flush of childhood still in your cheek. 
Drudging in factory, drudging in store, 
lour mother's sad lives repeating o'er, — 
Wife of a Wage Slave — widow and scrub. 
Tub and needle and needle and tub. 
Humbled, despairing, naught else in view. 
Oh, life-wearied women! I pity you. 

Hail! to the poet whose heart-strings were torn 

At sight of men who were made to mourn; 

Hail to all others who fight to-day 

The human beasts who of men make prey; 

The laws which from gun and cannon frown; 

The creeds which join them to keep men down; 

The powers which rob by legal decree. 

And soothe witli the sop of charity; 

That feed on the woes of human lives, 

On souls of children and famished wives; 



THE TOILEKS L\NDKKcaiOU2sD 24:8 

On widows doomed to stitch and to scrub, 
Tub and needle and needle and tub, — 
Driving to drink and driving to street. 
Crushing each ideal pure and sweet, 
Breeding despair and the crime and woe 
That from disease and poverty flow, — 
Oh, men of courage! Oh, men of heart! 
Eise in your man-hood and do your part; 
Till the powers that blight be overthrown; 
Till each Wage Slave come unto his own; 
Till each to earth's bounties be equal heir; 
Till each to her product have rightful share ; 
Till each shall be given all that he earns, 
And hearts beat just like the great heart of Burns. 



THE TOILEES UNDERGROUND. 



As I view the slumbering cit 



^ 



v, 



From my many storied height. 
Cut into blocks of darkness, 

By the crossing lines of light. 
And as loud the merry music 

Of the revelers resound, 
I think me of the toilers 

Way down beneath the ground: 
Of the many thousand toilers, 

Who labor 'neath the ground : 
Of the toilers 
At the boilers. 

Way down beneath the ground, 
Where the mighty pistons pound. 

Pound and rebound. 
And the governors, belts and puUo^ 

Go flying 'round and 'round ; 
And the seething furnace fire 
Turns the wheels that never tire. 

As around and around. 
All the night long they go spinnini^ 

Way down beneath the ground. 
15 



244 reminiscp:nt rhymes akd other verse 

Far up the pij^es they ^re sending 

The hot compressed steam. 
To warm the many sleepers 

AYho, in their comfort, dream; 
Or the bare and beauteous shoulders. 

That in the waltz spin 'round. 
Or when seated at the banquet, 

'Neath the spell of music's sound; 
AlTiile the toilers 
At the boilers, 

Way down beneath the ground. 
Hear no music but the moaning 
Of the pumps and motors groaning, 
And the seething spiteful hisses 
Of the steam and fiery kisses 

Of the flames that leap and bound, 
When within their furnace holes. 
They are shovelling in the coals, 

All night beneath the ground; 

In this hell beneath the ground; 
With its fiery, fiendish glare. 
And its hot unwholesome air, 
Tainted with the mold that 's there, 

In their graves beneatli the ground ; 
Then weary, gaunt, dejected. 

When the morning comes around, 
Like pale ghosts resurrected. 

They come up from the ground. 

It is dark thro' all the niglit-time. 
And it 's dark thro' all the da}^. 
To tlie toilers 
At the boilers, 
Who thus pass tlieir lives away: 
In the daytime they are sleeping. 
When earth is glad and bright; 
In the night their vigils keeping. 
Buried deep from human sight. 
■ And forever they are stoking 
Round after weary round, 
While the revellers are suioking 
Far up above tlie ground — 



THE TOILER S DREAM 

Are clinking their bright glasses. 
To the beauty of the lasses. 

To which their hearts are boinul ; 
Ah ! why should such a difference 

In human lives be found? 
Twixt the revellers reeling round. 
And the toilers 
At the boilers. 

Way down beneath the ground ? 
Twixt the wdners and the diners. 
And the drillers and the miners, 

A mile below the ground? 
To whom the grave will not be new, 

When for aye, they 're 'neath the ground. 



245 



THE TOILER'S DREAM. 

Tired of their age-crushing burdens. 

Of crown and cross and creed. 
Weary with toiling and slaving 

For hoary, selfish greed, 
Tired of the strife and the struggle. 

Weary with preach and pray, 
Men hunger and thirst for the gospel. 

Of a blessed, brighter day — 

Of the slowly coming day ; 
When right shall be based upon human, 

And not upon sacred sway ; 
x\nd the rights of one, be those of all. 

For which, all good men pray ; 

Pray, pray, unceasingly pray; 
When Justice, directed by Science, 

Shall light the toiler's way; 

Smoothing his painful way ; 
Aye, this is the glorious gospel 

Of the coming, blessed day. 

Loud, loud the roar and confusion, 

Of the despot in retreat, 
While faint grows the muffled thunder, 

And tramp of the toiler's feet ; 



246 KEMINISCENT JRHYMES AND OTHER VEKSE 

Aye, surely their da}^ is comings 

That day of high renown, 
When wage-slave, woman and thinker. 

Will lay their hurdens down ; 

Their chief est burdens down; 
And from back and brain be lifted 

Gun and^ soldier, cross and crown ; 
VThen Justice enthroned by Science, 

Will smite them with her frown; 

AVith withering glance and frown; 
And beneath the march of progress. 

They ^11 all be tramj^led down, 

Under the ground — deep down. 
And forever from sight be buried, 

Gun and soldier, cross and crown. 



POOR LITTLE GRASSHOPPER. 

On a chill day of October, a grasshopper flew into my office 
window, lit on my sleeve, and sat there, while I wrote this poem. 

Poor little grasshopper ! lit on my sleeve. 

Numb with the cold and wet with the -rain. 
Your gay spirit crushed, your sweet song hushed, 

Your sunshine turned to shadow and pain; 
On a bright summer day, from the meadow path. 

You arose before me, and sang as you flew. 
So joyous and free, singing just for me : 

Poor little grasshopper! how I pity you. 

Xow the death-touch is laid on your frail, feeble form, 

The fierce frosts of autumn hatli sickened you sore. 
But with hunger and chill, you cling to life still, 

Wand'ring unpitied, without shelter or store; 
'T is no fault of thine, if, unlike the ant, 

Thou were made just to idle — to sing and to play; 
Xor Jived you in vain, for your bright, cheery strain. 

Made glad my lone heart on that sad summer dav. 



A SPAKE Klli 1^-17 

'T is no fault of the dreamer, wliom nature, likewise, 

Hath, improvident made — just to sing, act or rhyme ; 
Who, hungry and old, and numb with the cold, 

!N'ow wandereth homeless in the chill night time; 
See ! the tempests of winter shake his frail, feeble frame. 

Which once, to the audience, was pleasing to view ; 
His gay spirit crushed, his sweet song hushed — 

Poor old vagabond ! how I pity you. 



WHEN THE STARS SHIXE OUT. 

As soon as the night is dark enough. 

The eternal stars shine out; 
Likewise the truth more clearly glows 

Amid the darkness of doubt; 
Do troubles weigh you down, poor heart? 

Are you wearied with the strife? 
Then remember the gain is measured l)y pain, 

In every success of life. 

And ^t is only mid the gloom of despair, 

The stars of success shine through; 
And 't is only as you question and doubt. 

The truth will appear to you; 
And 'tis only as troubles test your strength. 

And you show what you really are, 
That the clouds of doubt turn inside out. 

And their linings inclose a star. 



A SPARE RIB 

Had Adam died with all of his ribs. 

What then ? What then ? 
There 'd be no women living to-day, 
Xo women to wrangle and have their way, 
But worst of it all — Oh, say ! Oh, say ! 

There would certainly be no men; 

And — what would the ladies do then? 
So, let all be thankful, as we join in prayer, 
That old Adam had one spare-rib to spare. 



248 



REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



MY OLD CHECK SHIRT. 

I 'm not so much on dressing, nor at wasting time on looks, 

Tho' I get a shine npon me every now and then; 
But when I buckle down to business, or dig into my books. 

Or gather inspiration from paper and from pen, 
I shift into my old clothes, just to feel their sense of ease. 

And so avoid annoyance of thought of care or dirt; 
As free as in my boyhood, when in the summer breeze, 

I tramped along the furrows in my old check shirt. 

Which, with pants of home-made linen, and hat of tattered 
straw, 

And suspenders made of bed-tick, were the whole of my 
attire ; 
But when I changed on Sundays, to clothes witliout a flaw. 

And was scolded off to meetin' to learn of something higher. 
Than roaming like a savage or swimming in the creek. 

And other desecrations, to which I 'd oft revert, 
I was glad the solemn Sabbath came but once a week. 

And I prayed for Monday morning and my old check shirt. 

Just once a week I changed it, when wash day came around, 

And the sweatings sometimes made it rather rank and sour; 
But it covered dreams of glory, and first love gave a bound. 

Beneath its checkered surface in manhood's wak'ning hour, 
I can see it still a waving from the old clothes line. 

And tho' it seems extravagant, yet truly I assert. 
There ne'er was Irish linen so soft and clean and fine. 

Or fresher to my feelings tlian my old check shirt. 

Tlie years have come and gone, witli their swift and varied 
change 

^Of thouglit and aspiration, of place and dress and style; 
I 've followed many fashions, dressed in patterns swell and 
strange ; 

From the old straw head-top, to a shining silken tile ; 
I 've sat me down at banquets, where a hundred plates were laid, 

With front of polished whiteness, and coat of swallow skirt. 
While I longed for the split-basket, swinging in the shade. 

From which I lunched at noon-time in my old check shirt. 



WIIKX THE IJAND COMES ]JV 249 

Oh! those golden fields of harvest, and the wood-lands all 
around, 

The symphonies which blended with my nature-loving soul. 
And the color, form and beauty, which robed the swelling 
ground, 

And the poetry and learning I garnered from the whole ; 
The wisest books I 've studied, and learned the ways of men. 

And in some special branches have attained to the expert ; 
But tlie rarest observations Avere those I gathered when, 

I roamed a wild young savage in my old check shirt. 



WHEX THE BAND COMES BY. 

Oh ! ne'er is there music so cheer}-, 

And none so thrilling sweet. 
As the band makes when it's coming 

Adown the busy street; 
AVhen all the people come rushing. 

To window and to door. 
And a gath'ring crowd is marching proud. 

Some distance just before; 
And the gallant knights come after, 

Their banners waving gay. 
And their plumes so white and sabers bright. 

Are flashing down the way; 
Into sudden transport lifted. 

Each heart is beating high ; 
All linked in one by music's spell, 

When the band comes by. 

Oh! 'tis oft that I remember, 

The patter of little feet, 
And the cry of — "Hurry, Mamma !" 

When the band came down the street ; 
And we gathered at the window, 

We loving, happy three. 
Each glad heart thrilled, as well as filled. 

With music's mvsterv ; 



250 



REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTIIEK VEKSE 

And again I hear their laughter. 

And see their bright eyes glow. 
And the tender grace in each dear face 

As in the long ago; 
And as often do I wonder, 

Do they see me from on high. 
Sitting lonely at the window. 

When the band comes by ? 



HELPLESS AGE 

Let me ne'er reach that helpless stage 
Of pain and penury and age. 

When the heart hath lost its lightness ; 
When black despair becomes our doom, ' 
And plunge we in Cerberian gloom. 

That hides wide wastes of whiteness; 
But let me go and lay me low 
Wliile still the sun is high aglow, 

And life still hath some brightness. 
For what so helpless e'er can be 
As age and pain and poverty ? 
Oh, cruel death ! since come thou must, 
Let me not linger, age, and rust. 



A DLSTIXCTION WITHOUT A DIFFEREAtce 
That which so often is done in crowds. 

Done singly, is called insane ; 
The revival shout, if made on the street. 

Would denote a disordered brain; 
The whooping and hurrah of marching hosts 

For their favorite candidate. 
If singly made by some partisan jade. 

Would land him in charge of the State; 
Then, after all 's said, is he less a fool, 
^Or more with brain pulp endowed, ' 
Who makes an ass of himself alone. 

Or an ass of himself in a crowd ? 



MAKING THE :MAKE UO 

MAN^S MILLENNIUM. 

That man, thro' error, strife and pain evolves, 
Who can deny? That onward, upward, is 
His constant course, who will dispute? As more 
And more to justice he inclines; as less 
Becomes the risks and wants of life; as science 
Lifts us to ideal heights, and the miseries 
Of one, become the quick concern of all. 
Then less the need of all those sympathies, 
AVe now upon the weak bestow. Just as 
Men cease to do each other harm, the less 
Will be their need to do each other good; 
Nor longer then, will men permit the help. 
And sacrifice, that now from other hands 
They willingly receive. In self-support. 
In health, and breeding health, all men at last 
Will find their highest dignity and pride. 

In this high state of man, fast being wrought. 

By close relationship and interchange. 

By steam and wheel and conquest of the air. 

By lightning flash and strange etheric wave. 

And the evermore mysterious mind, 

Unfolding e'er new wonders of itself, 

To a minimum, at last, will every wrong 

And evil be reduced. Then most of laws. 

Most ailments and most cares; and wars and creeds; 

And faiths, of ignorance and error born, 

And of men's hates and selfishness sustained, 

AVill die and be no more: When man for man 

Will live; on knowledge, science, ethics, love, 

And beauty sweet, his life be based; then, then, 

Will man's millennium be, if e'er it be. 



251 



MAKING THE MAEE GO 

It is n't so much what '11 make the marc go. 
Or whether or not there 's a stake, 

As it is in making some other man's mare 
Take the road that vou want her to take. 



252 . IIEMIXISCEXT KHYMES AND OTHER YEItSE 



A EEBEL YELL. 

A song, a song for the rebels, a song for the fearless few, 
Who live and die unhonored, because they choose to be true — 

To their own true selves be true; 
Who ne'er retreat nor surrender, nor the flag of freedom lower. 
Nor honor yield on thought's fair field, nor cringe at the feet 
of power — 

At the feet of tyrannous power. 

Rebels are they by nature, born champions of human woe, 
Who won't be reconciled to wrong, nor cold to miserv grow — 

Or to custom cling and grow; 
Who honor justice above the law, and challenge the truth of 

creeds. 
Who stand for right, in the thick of the fight, and measure men 
by deeds — 
By brave, unselfish deeds. 

A song, a song for the unbouglit souls, whose wealth is in being 

free, 
Who not for to-day, nor to-morrow live, but for all eternity — 

For mankind and eternity; 
"WTio with merciful hearts protest against the poverty they meet, 
x^or lift their eyes and souls to the skies, forgetting the hell in 
the street — 
The misery haunted street. 

Who feel the difi^crencc 'twi.xt surfeit and want, tlie woes of 

men can tell. 
And against the crimes of greed and creed, witli all their souls 
rebel — 
With dauntless souls rebel; 
Who boldly tlie insurrection of manhood and free thought raise, 
'Gainst throne divine, and barbarous shrine, and all of their 
cruel ways — 
Their proud, imperious ways. 

Oh, radiant Revolution ! By whom is it being wrought ? 
By the brave, rebellious thinkers, who have never masked a 
thought — 
A free, progressive thought; 



A liKHEL YELL ^')'> 

The captains brave of progress, undismayed by threat or terror, 
Who marshal their hosts against the ghosts, that sanctify grim 
error — 
Blind ignorance and error. 

Mad, mad are they, their neighbors say, these cliampions of 

human right, 
Who lift the bandage from blinded eyes, and give them to see 

the light- 
Heaven's golden glorious light; 
Mad they say, these inspired souls, who figlit tliat men may be 

free. 
But whose faces shine with visions divine, tlie grovelling crowd 

ne'er see. 
The gold gathering crowd ne'er see. 

Then hail to the Kings of Reason, especially to the dead, 
Who, despised and unrewarded, have pushed the world aliead — 

Out of bondage far ahead; 
W]io died at the stake or scaffold, or pined behind prison bars. 
Hail to them, hail ! from mountain and dale, aye, hail them to 
tlie stars — 

To the everlasting stars ! 

And liail ! to all of the living, the intrepid fearless bands. 
Who are smiting the superstitious, that darken and damn the 
lands — 
All mammon governed lands; 
Wlio raise on high their pleading cry — "Let war, oh. Kings 

depart ! 
Let cannon rust and put your trust, for once in tlie human 
heart — 
The untried human heart. 

Never again, nay never, will the few rule the many more. 

As they did in days mediaeval, by gibbet and chain and gore — 

By shedding torrents of gore; 
For lo; they are now confronted on every shore and sea. 
By men who rebel and women as well, who 're making the 
masses free — 

Free, free, and forever free. 



254 KKMINISCEXT RHYMES A^U 01 11 Ell YEKSE 

Free of tlie Lords and Bishops that rule by the "Eight Divine," 
And who claim on mere authority (?) the thoughts that are 
yours and mine — 
E'en these lives of yours and mine; 
Free of their bogies and devils, and their hot phantasmal Hell — 
Three cheers ! Three cheers ! for Egason's Peers, three cheers 
and a Eebel Yell ! 
A rousing Eebel Yell ! 

Then stand by your colors steady, men of a matchless mould I 
Thine is the greatest glory that ever on earth was told, 

Or that ever will be told; 
The glory of breaking shackles, and from bondage setting free. 
The brains beguiled of woman and child — could a gi-ander mis- 
sion be? 

A more glorious mission be? 



THE EAXKS OF THE DISCOXTE^^T. 

Slumber not in the tents of your fathers, 

The world is advancing, men ! 
Advance with it — lend a hand, brotliers. 

Come up from the bog and the fen; 
In this dawning era of reason, 

In this ruddy morning of light, . 
Hope is spreading her scintillant pinions. 

And bidding you enter the fight. 

High over the azure cloaked mountains, 

Far up on the crystalline arch. 
With her iris pencil she 's painting 

The high-way of human march; 
But none ever reach the bright summit, 

To dwell in the starry glow. 
Who 're content to abide in the shadows. 

In which they 're groping below. 

Then, awake! 3'e sluggish defeated, 

To your aspirations give vent, 
And unite with the army of progress, 

'Xeath the banner of discontent ; 



THK KAXKS OF TIIK DISCONTENT 

For never has nature intended 

In obeisance man should rest. 
But tliat struggle for independence, 

Should develop in him the best. 

Aye, there's none in stagnant contentment, 

Can rest, but the useless mind; 
And to be slaves without resentment. 

Is but indolence refined; 
If contented ye are with oppression, 

x\nd blindly submit to the few, 
The future, with all its bright promises, 

Has in it, nothing for you. 

•From the discontent, born of lono-injr. 

Comes the inspiration to dare, 
And brighter ideals comes tJironging, 

To take the place of despair; 
Tho' the source of all strife and trouble, 

'T is the source of jDrogress as well. 
For it reaches upward to heaven 

From out of the prison of hell. 

To be neither wiser nor greater, 

Than the dim benighted past. 
Is to be stagnant, narrow and foolish. 

And with impotents be classed; 
With the spoon-meat of superstition, 

Xo longer choose to be fed ; 
Xor be circumscribed by tradition, 

Xor led by voice of the dead. 

Too long, oh ye toilers of nations, 

Too long, ye maidens and wives. 
Have ye fed the maw of gluttonous war, 

"With your bodies and your lives ; 
Too long have ye toiled that the greedy. 

On 3^our ver}^ souls may feast; 
Too long your thought you 've surrendered. 

To the juggling of ilie pri(^st. 



256 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Then, awake ! for the world-clock is striking 

The approach of the woman's hour; 
And science and labor are marking 

The stride of Almighty Power: 
Slumber not in the tents of 3^our fathers. 

The world is advancing, men ! 
Advance with it : lend a hand, brothers. 

Come out from the bog and the fen. 



THE MODERNIST. 

Tho' fierce the pressure and the strain 

Of organized control of brain. 

Yet, ne'er can it stamp out the free, 

Inherent right of inquiry; 

No more than it can stop the eartli 

Revolving in its sphere; 
Nor cause the countless unseen suns 

At its command appear; 
No more than from the belfried sky. 

Its fiaming fires deface; 
Nor stay the sparkling planets where 

They spin in en^dess space; 
For, limitless the reach of mind. 
And brains there be, faith can not bind. 

As moves the earth and all God wrought, 

The waters, clouds and air. 
So ever moves the world of thought, 

So men were made to dare; 
Nor law, nor faith, nor fear, nor force. 
Nor binding oaths can check their course ; 
For aye, beyond their power lie. 

Through the dusky depths of night. 
Star-studded spaces in the sky. 

Where the free soul taketh flight, 
To its native sphere. 
To bathe in the clear, 



THK MODEK^•IST 2o7 

And radiant excesses of light; 
For the human soul 
Can liave but one goal, 
And turnetli to God, which is Liglit. 
Like the child, it turnetli to light; 
Like the lily, looketh to light; 
For all things complete. 
And glorified, meet. 
And liveth and loveth in light. 
Ah, what so stupid, e'er can he, 
As to blind the human sight? 
As to try to cheat by vain decree, 
That which was made for liberty? 

The bow which long remaineth bent. 

In time will lose its spring; 
And so the mind to creed confined. 

Becomes the weakest thino-; 
In brain, as muscle, power lies 
In freedom, use and exercise; 
AVliat of the future can men know, 
AVho backward look and backward go ? 

Who pushes forward on life's track, 
Tho' all the world would hold him back, 

Condemning him as wrong; 
Who thinks anew and braves to dare. 
And with his conscience lives four-scpiaro, 
Nor budges e'er, but stands right there. 

Of great soul is, and strong; 
To him your thanks belong; 
Oh! give him not your scornful glare — 

Cive him your greatest song; 
For ne'er there 'd be a new thing wrought, 

A new crop sent to grist, 
A forward step, a modern thought, 

But for the Modernist 



258 KEMINISCENT KHYMES A2sD OTHEK VEKSE 



COULD THE FLOWERS SPEAK. 

A\ hat a pity the flowers can utter no word ! 
Wliat a pity no sound from their lips ever stirred ! 
Could the violet but whisper^ the rose but sing, 
The honeysuckle murmur the passions of spring, 
What stories of heart, sad and sweety they could tell, 
Since the secrets of lovers they know so well. 

What a pity that speech to them is forbid. 

When they lie so mute on the coffin lid; 

Or when lone o^er the grave their fragrance they shed — 

The lonely companions of the dear, dumb dead. 

AVhat secrets of love and of death they would tell, 

Could they speak, but, alas, they keep them too well, 



STICK TO YER OWX WOOD-PILE. 

Ef ye want ter see John Jones look sour, 

Ef ye want ter hear him fuss, 
An^ whine eibout his luckless fate. 

An' rear, an' rip, an' cuss — 
Jes' watcli him when he's all alone, 

Er sawin' an' splittin' wood. 
The whole o' Saturday afternoon. 

So 's on Sunday ter be good. 

'Bout ev'ry half er dozen strokes. 

He 'plies the bacon rind. 
An' swears dad buys the greenest Avood, 

An' roughest, toughest kind; 
An' when he strikes a knot or snag. 

An' the saw bucks back an' out. 
He storms erbout a future place, 

'At 's hot 'ithout a doubt. 

But ef you 'd see him quick an' spry. 

An' serenely satisfied. 
An' hump eround an' spread hisself, 

An' in choppin' take a pride — 



THE MEASUREMENT OF MAN 

Ef ye 'd see him makes the chips jes' Hy, 
Well as clip in with a smile, 

Jes' watch him whackin' oV hard knots, 
At er neighbor boy's wood-pile. 

"John Henry Jones !'' His mother calls. 

As she looks ercross the lot, 
An' sees John Henry rippin' in, 

An' a goin' it, blazin' hot, — 
"Jes' skee-daddle home, this minute, 

Er ye '11 git some peach tree ile; 
Your stack o' wood '11 never grow, 

Cuttin' at some other pile." 

An' so I says ter every. lad. 

It 's good ter go it alone ; 
An' ter know the best o' comp'ny. 

Should at all times be yer own; 
Jes' saw yer wood an' nothin' say, 

Ef you 'd win out afterwhile ; 
An' whack erway 'ith all yer might. 

But — stick to yer own wood-pile. 



259 



THE MEASUREMENT OF MAX. 

Not rich is he, who w^eighted down with gold, 
With envious eyes, the poor man's joys behold ; 
Who — flushed with surfeit — comes at last to scan 
The full and final measurement of man. 
Kot poor are they, who ne'er sat at a feast. 
Aye, most have they, who oft desire the least; 
Few, nature meant our real w^ants to be — 
To have man}^ wants, denotes infirmity; 
Who, most is contented, has greatest wealth ; 
Most happy he, who is blessed with good health ; 
Provident, resourceful should each one be, 
To master grim fate and adversity. 
16 



260 KEMl^'lSCKNT RHYMES AND OTHER YERbE 

As the body's needs, so those of the mind; 

In health, light clad; in sickness, wrapped, confined; 

From all encumbrances, the swimmer ^^arts; 

Who 'd reach high altitudes, unburdened starts ; 

Untrammeled, free of prejudice and creed. 

Master of passion, envy, hate and greed. 

If greatly endowed with genius for gain. 

He scattereth it, as doth heaven the rain; 

If greatly endowed with the genius of thought. 

He bestows it freely, and withholds it not; 

If science directs him toward mountains of liglit. 

Changed his ding)^ apartment to a palace bright ; 

If poetry, music, invention or art. 

Light up the dark chambers of his lone heart. 

Its gloomy recesses with splendors shine, 

Only dreamt of in mansions of Gods Divine, 

Poor, poor is he, whose life is based upon pelf. 

Whose thoughts extend no farther than himself; 

Xor rich is he, who comes at last to find 

Himself, knee-tall beside the stalwart mind; 

But rather the man whom the mercies sway. 

And scatters bright roses, 'long life's barren way ; 

Whose brain enlightens, and example commands. 

And who, pure in poverty, illustrious stands. 



THE ETERXAL CHAIX. 

What matter tlio' the torrent of life. 

To the future bear not down, 
A single memory of our strife. 

To win and gain renown ; 
Tho' never upon its bosom floats 

A recollection dim. 
Of great tilings done, and honors won. 

That filled life to the brim. 

Enough it is, enough be it, 
That each play well his part ; 

That each in the niche of honor fit, 
And wealth of mind impart; 



A LITTLE DAFFY, YOU KNOW 

Tbo^ seeming lost in tlie march of thouglit, 

Yet all compose tlie train ; 
And each who thinks, a(lc1> golden links 

To the grand eternal ciiain. 



261 



A VALEXTIXE. 

When first I felt in years agone. 

That thou were surely mine. 
To be my mate through every fate — 

My own true valentine. 
Forgot I all my dreary past. 
As o'er my life thy sweet love cast 

A something seemed divine. 

And now, tho' fate across our lives, 

ITer shadows dark have tlirowii, 
I claim thee still, thro' every ill. 

My own — still all my own ; 
Let glow the years, with smiles or tears, 
My one love still my life endeais, 

Tho' sadder, sweeter grown ; 
Oh ! how my heart would grieve and i)iiu', 
Had I not thee, my valentine; 

My own — still all my own. 

February 1^, ID Id 



A LITTLE DAFFY, YOU KXOW 

TTi-: who some great tiling would do in life, 
Must arm himself with the weapons of strife, 

And unflinchingly face the foe; 
^Fust different think and different be, 
Must e'er be regarded curiously. 

And early and late on the go; 
So the idle and ignorant who pass his way 
"Will knowingly wink, and smilingly say — 



262 KEMI2sISCEJ\'T KHYMKS AND OTIIEK VERSE 



THE MUSE'S BLESSIIN'G. 

Oh ! man}' are the silent souls, 
Who, masters skilled, might teach. 

But e^er remain unknown to fame. 
Because of lack of speech. 

^T was back in boyhood's dreamy time, 
When Spring was in her blushing prime. 
As lone I walked in thoughtful mood, 
Adown a spirit haunted wood, 

And by a flowery lea. 
The air seemed full of whispered sound. 
And voices heard I all around, 

"A poet he would be ! 
Ha ! Ha ! 

A poet he would be ! 
But ne'er a thought can he express 
In rhyme, of truth and loveliness. 

And sorely grieveth he.'' 
As louder still the voices grew. 
Soft, shadowy forms appeared to view. 

Of faultless symmetry. 

Each flawless shape I tried to clasp, 
But e'er eluded they m}^ grasp, ■ 

And this I heard them say — 
"We only come to tantalize. 
To thrill your sense and charm yonr eyes. 

And then to flirt away; 
We, of these sacred sylvan shades. 

The guardian muses are; 
Our task, to note whoe'er invades, 

And further progress bar; 
No heart impure, nor mind profane, 
Dare enter this, our fair domain; 
AVe now will hasten to our Queen, 
And quick report what we have seen — 
A stranger wand'ring thro' the wood, 
In contemplative, dreamy mood. 

Despondent, pale and lean." 



THE MUSE S JJLESSINO 

Then tumbled they in storms their liair. 
And raised their bodies into air, 
And joining hands, they round me swung, 
Their faultless forms before me flung, 

In merry mischief making; 
Like stars their eyes shone as they danced, 
While rapt I stood, as one entranced. 

Or in paradise awaking; 
But when again I oped my arms. 
And sought to clasp their shadowy forms, — 

My truest love declaring, 
Then like the ignis fatuus liglit. 
They softly faded from my sight. 

And left me alone, despairing. 
'*'T was ever thus,^' I sadly sighed. 
My fondest hopes have soonest died ; 
'T is thus before my wondering eyes. 
These Muses come to tantalize 

A soul that's e'er despairing; 
'T is ever thus, in beauty thronging, 
They fire my soul with love and longing. 

Then leave me sad, despairing. 

Oppressed, I souglit a scented shade, 
Where rippling waters by me strayed, 

And stretched me on the ground; 
To me, no bower blossomed briglit, 
No woodland airs gave me delight, 

Nor music murmuring sound. 
My soul with poesy aflame, 
To poesy could make no claim. 

To silence doomed and bound. 
What other pain so fierce, intense. 
As that keen agony of sense, 
Of being great with thought possessed, 
Wliich baflies speech to be expressed? 
As thus I, grieving, smote myself. 

For being a speechless fool, 
A beauteous shape before me rose 

From out a sylvan pool; 
And smiling, toward me came and stood, 
In all her ripened womanhood. 



204 REMINISCENT EHYMES AND OTHEK VEKSE 

A filmy scarf but thin concealed 

The beauty meant to be revealed; 

Naught else she wore, save on her head, 

A wreath of wild flowers, yellow, red. 

Of every tint and hue combined. 

With leaves of oak and ivy twined; 

Around her forehead, fair and bold. 

Her raven ringlets richly rolled, 

Then downward swept about her form, 

To make more white, each snow-white charm. 

Her face was like the song thrilled bowers. 

That merry make the Ma}^; 
A nestling luxury of flowers. 

Along a woodland way; 
Her cheeks were like the twilight snows. 
Ablush with sunset's rosy glows; 
Her crimson lips the dawning gates 

Of pearly Paradise; 
The peeping planets of the eve 

Her large and lustrous eyes; 
Upon me soft they threw their beams. 
From out a turquoise sky of dreams; 
Of every shade they seemed, and hue — 
Of deep sea green and violet blue; 
Of grey of dawn, and black of night. 
But flashing all with liquid light. 
Her full-lipped, red, inviting mouth — 
Suggestive of the sensuous South, 
AVith love glowed warm, and passion's heat, 
Yet chaste as crab-blooms and as sweet. 
Her neck, half hid by hair and chin. 

Made twilight caverns fair. 
Where tired Love might hide within. 

And slumber sweetly there. 
Like peach buds dropped on drifted snows. 
Her beauteous bosom chastely rose 
Expressive forth, as if it wooed 
Sweet pillowed love and motherhood; 
Her matchless limbs and perfect arms. 
Seemed a monopoly of charms; 



THE musk's blessing 2G5 

Loug, full and round, aglow with grace, — 
They made my eyes forget her face; 
From swelling thigh to dainty feet, 
They rounded out a form complete. 

As rapt I gazed in sinless dreams 

Upon that radiant form. 
Its every grace and motion seemed 

Of rhyme and music born, 
"Oh ! spirit fair !" I, pleading, cried, 

"Such glories in thee dwell, 
Thou seem'st to be the all of thouglil, 

I feel but can not tell ; 
Oh! be it in thy queenly power. 

Give me sweet gift of speech. 
That I in rhyme, thought, sweet, sublime, 

To all mankind may teach; 
No other blessing of the gods, 

.Will ever I beseech." 

AYith that, upon my head she placed 

Her soft, shell-tinted hand ; 
A regal will her features graced. 

As one born to command. 
The loving gleam in Juliet's e3^es. 

Had not her own eyes gleaming; 
The soul in Desdemona's sighs. 

Had not her own sigh's seeming. 
"My gentle boy," she sweetly said, 

"I now have come to thee. 
To grant thy long despairing wish. 

And set thy wild thoughts free; 
'T is I alone hath powder to grant. 

The gift of poesy. 
I, Queen of all the Pluses blest. 

Am with thee now alone; 
Thus oft I 've stood and heard thee sigh, 
When ne'er thou knew that I was nigh. 

And claimed thee for mine own ; 
And just as oft, I 've left thee grieved, 

And downcast and forlorn; 



266 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHEK VEKSE 

But know, thou, all achievement great. 

Of suffering is born. 
And often must the poet's heart. 

From its proud seat be torn." 

"I 've watched thee all thy youthful years. 

Thy future now I '11 tell ; 
Who liveth faithful unto me, 
A struggle hard his fate must be — 

With fortune, ne'er he'll dwell; 
With many sorrows thou wilt meet. 

And be beset with fears; 
Appalling steeps thou 'It have to climb. 

And wade deep streams of tears; 
Thy high-born pride will oft be crushed, 

Much suffering wilt thou know. 
But ever when thy heart bleeds most. 

My arms I '11 round thee throw. 
Tho' all the world should'st 'gainst thee turn. 

By custom be not bound; 
Knowest not that e'er most precious pearls. 

On loneliest shores are found? 
So fear thou not to stand alone 

With head and soul erect; 
He, nearest kindred is to gods. 

Who 's firm in self-respect, 
Who walks untrammelled, true and free, 
Eegarding poor humanity, 

'Bove party, race or sect." 

But lest thou over-zealous be. 

To climb the steeps of fame, 
I charge thee, let the need? of men 

Thy purpose be and aim ; 
All human thought must nourished be. 

The low as well as high. 
So mingle thou with modest worth. 
Thy proper place is here on earth. 

And not witliin the sky. 
In speaking words the weak mny feel. 

Large room there is for thee ; 
Less need of art hath lowly minds. 

Than being brave and free. 



THE musk's JiiJvssl^■u -<)7 

Nor be thou not too much cast {h)\vn. 

When genius o'er thee sliincs; 
Low at the feet of towering lieights. 

Bloom brightest flowers and vines. 
Few ever reach the darling hope?, 

To which they most are clinging; 
Few ever sing the master songs. 

Of wliich they dream of singing. 
Though many poets do I bless. 
To none 't is given to express 
The whole of truth and loveliness, 

And few the laurel wear; 
To all I glimpse my glories bright, 
Each poet soul feed with some light, 

Content be with thy share; 
However small it seems to thee, 
Thy greatest happiness 't will be." 

Thou 'It never reach the goal of tilings, 

But take some forward steps; 
Thou 'It see deep in the soul of things. 

But never stir the depths; 
Nor wilt thou loom like genius groat. 

Crag-like against the sky. 
Nor wilt thou soar to lofty heights, 

"Where only eagles fly ; 
Nor wilt thou glisten like the sun. 

When day lets down his bars, 
Nor planet-like precede the 'march 

Of all the myriad stars; 
But tho' thou shine with milder glow. 

Still radiant thou wilt be, 
And some will pass the planets ])y, 

To fondly gaze on thee ; 
And others from the classic page. 

With art divinely dressed. 
To thy more humble verse Avill iiirn. 

And find in thee a rest. 
If but thou of the common heart. 
Canst make th3'self a loving part. 

Thou 'It be one of the blest.'' 



268 KEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSK 

With that, she pressed me to her heart. 

And kissed my burning brow; 
"Let these be signet of my power, 

I hail thee Poet now; 
And ne'er forget whate'er thy cares. 

Or what thy sorrows be, 
In my white arms is empire, 

In my kiss is sovereignty.'' 
Then gently placed she on my head. 

The wreath that graced her own ; 
^^Wear this for me," she sweetly said, 

"By it thon shalt be known, 
By leaf of oak and flowers wild. 
Plain Nature's rugged, sturdy child, 
A bard by beauty bright beguiled. 

And love's most gentle tone. 
To poets past I garlands gave. 

To present ones allow ; 
But brightest keep I in reserve, 

For future poets brow; 
That ne'er an end there'll ever be, 
To music and sweet poesy; 
In each, there 's something of the best. 
Some sweet expression ne'er expressed ; 
So go thy lowly, gentle ways. 

Exultant, fearless, free; 
Go sing thy simple heartfelt lays, 

There 's room for such as thee. 
Dear heart — Sweet heart, 

There's room for such as thee." 

The sun was slanting clown the skies. 

The day was growing old; 
The Western wood-tops tipped with dyes, 

Of purple, silver, gold; 
A roseate glow lit up her face. 
As backward stepped she for a space. 

Where a blooming hawthorne neared ; 
Tlien smiling midst its blossoms bright. 
She blended with the soft twilight, 

And slowly disappeared. 



AX uxroruLAii kigjit 2()9 



LITTLE JOYS. 



There's no one who gets so niucli out of life, 

As lie who daily employs, 
A goodly portion of each day's strife, 

In treasuring its little joys. 
To only a few are given the gr^at. 

Those of station, honor and fame; 
But the many small, make up for them all. 

And each life without them is tame. 

Oh ! give me my little one's smile and coo. 

And her pull at my old mustache, 
And what care I for society's whirl. 

Or for Carnegie's countless cash? 
And let her nestle right close to my heart. 

And all the night slumber there. 
And why should I ginimblo at endless toil. 

Or care a conniption for care ? 

And give me the love-light in mamma's love eyes. 

And the same old sweet-heart kiss ; 
Then why should I care for a home in the skies. 

Or envious be of its bliss? 
And give me friendships, and give me true loves. 

Though simple they be, not grand ; 
And wherever I go, this joy may I know. 

The clasp of an old glad hand. 



AN UXrOPULAR EIGHT 

Oh! there's many and many a goodly riglit 

For which some folks never think to fight ; 

There's some from the bondage of state would be frc^nl, 

Who furiously fight for the bondage of creed : 

Thus brain-bound and blinded, ever through life, 

They prefer to go squinting and blinking : 
Making never a fight for the simple right 

Of doing their own free-thinking. 



270 KEMI^'ISCEKT KlIYMES AND OTHEli VEKSE 

GEEALDINB. 

The sun had travelled half his way, 

Beyond the drowsy noon; 
'T was long about the time when TJay 

Was melting into June; 
The first faint weariness of day. 
Had fallen on the flowers gay; 
The birds had ceased their roundelay. 

And woods their whispered rune; 
The lambs no longer frisked and played. 

The work of bee was done; 
The cattle grouped them in the shade, 

The insects in the sun ; 
No longer seemed the wild rose glad, 

Nor vine and leaf and tree; 
No zephyr kissed a blossom sad. 

Naught cared for company. 
A dreamy indolence o'er all 

Of drowsy nature fell ; 
The turtle answered not love's call, 
The brook had modified its brawl, — 
All things that run or fly or crawl, 

Were napping for a spell. 

When soft upon the sylvan scene, 

Appeared a vision rare; 
'T was my first love, sweet Gerald iuo, — 

The fairest of the fair; 
Of shy approach and modest mien. 
With all the charms of sweet sixteen, — • 
Such eyes as hers were never seen, 

Such fine and golden hair; 
Just like a budding rose her face. 

Divinely sweet and good ; 
Her body breathed that matchless grace 

Of ripening maidenhood; 
To everything that blossomed round, 

She gave a tint and tone, 
And color, perfume, song and sound, 

All claimed her as their own ; 



GEKALDINE 

As into red her love thoughts rushed, 

And crimsoned lip and cheek, 
Shrewd Nature read her heart and blushed ; 
The souls of flowers instinctive flushed ; 
And roused the birds whose songs were huslied — 

The winds began to speak. 

And far and wide the news they spread. 

To sleepy shrub and tree; 
Each leaf and blade raised high its head. 

The bright visitor to see ; 
A\'hose step was light as fairy's tread. 
Whose lips outri vailed roses red, 
And hair the finest spider's thread, 

(So the winds told them and me) ; 
The blue bell gazing in the pond. 

Forgot its image there, 
When it looked up and saw beyond. 

My Geraldine, so fair; 
Awoke each blossom, bee and flower. 

Each creeping thing that lives; 
All felt instinctively the power 

That beauty's presence gives; 
And homage gave, they long had kept, 

For rarer things than they; 
Each breeze that in the hawthorne slept. 
And wild-rose odor, round her swept ; 
And daisies toward her leaned or crept. 

To kiss her by the way. 

Ah ! this was in the long ago. 

That here I loved to trace. 
Her coming through the meadow, slow. 

To our dear trysting pl-aee; 
Her cheeks, like sunset on the snow; 
Her eyes, like spirit orbs aglow; 
Oh, Geraldine ! I loved you so ! 

So heaven bright your face; 
No wonder daisies toward you leaned. 

To kiss you as you passed ; 
That winds from flowers their odors sfleaned. 



271 



272 KEMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHEK VEKSE 

And rushed to hold you fast; 
That drowsy Xature waked to note, 

Your presence in her midst; 
That praises pealed from each small throat, 

When here we met and kissed ; 
Alas ! Alas ! to the graveyard near. 

They bore you one cold day ; 
Thou wert not meant for me, I fear, 
Nor other hearts, it would appeal-, 
For, some things Nature holds so dear. 

She wdll not give away. 



THE FALL OF LIFE. 

Like a wall of fire, the forest stands 

Against the purple sky; 
And chill winds sweep o'er the pasture lands. 

As with a dying sigh: 
The lone shade trees in the field apart. 

Gleam red as dipped in blood ; 
For Nature now hath spilled her heart. 

And crimsoned field and wood. 
Sorrowfully, tearfully she grieves. 

As summer wanes and pales. 
And the gusty winds and falling leaves, 

Iiustle thro' woods and vales. 

The sumach and aster linger to tint 

The brown earth with their blaze. 
And blend with the mists, wdiich gently hint, 

Of Indian Summer's haze; 
The roving crow for the South is bound. 

The quail begin to flock ; 
The dead grasses winnow along the ground. 

The corn is in the shock ; 
Mellowed to sadness grows every tune, 

As of impending strife; 
For, thickly the fall of .year is strewn. 

With fall of human life. 



THE FALL OF LIFE 

But bright the bhize of tlie cheery hearth. 

The flames are spurting snow, 
And sadness soon is mingled with mirth, 

As neighbors come and go; 
And the social joys begin their reign, 

"When toil has earned a rest; 
The barns are heaped with the hay and giain. 

The apples are being pressed, 
And all made safe from the Winter^s strife, 

And from his blighting breath ; 
Ah! sweetly strange are the joys of life. 

As close they blend with death. 

And sweetly strange when our Father died. 

That joy should blend with tears; 
AVe talked of his constant care and pride, 

Thro^ all our tender years, 
How naught for self he cared, but for those. 

Wrapped closely in his heart; 
How they should ne'er feel the weight and woes 

AVhich fell to his sad part ; 
How thro' long seasons he tilled the soil. 

And reaped our winter store; 
Then we clasped his hands, all gnarled with toil. 

And kissed them o'er and o'er. 

And joyed at thought that his loving eai-e 

Grew more as he grew old, 
Wlien Autumn frost's had silvered his liaii-, 

But glossed his life with gold; 
Sweetly and sadly we laid him away, 

Neath Nature's smile and frown. 
When purple mingled with gold and gray. 

In royal October's crown : 
Oh, meet that such loving life should end, 

Ere Autumn days grew lioary, 
And meet that such golden, worth should blend. 

With Autumn's golden glory. 



273 



274 litMIiS-lSCE^'T RHYMES AisD OTHEK YEKSE 



LOVE, THE LAWLESS. 

A captive the}' 'd make of Love if they could, 

E'en would circumscribe its devotion; 
But never a law that man ever made. 

Hath controlled a human emotion. 
'T is sex alone that awakens the call. 

And leadeth fond lovers to mate; 
!N"or law, nor custom can ever direct, 

The feelings that neither create. 

!N"or can they determine when love shall begin. 

Nor how soon it shall cease to be; 
Eor, of all lawless things pertaining to life, 

That of love is most lawless and free. 
Aye, no law doth it know of God or of man, 

Ko master save its own sweet will ; 
Universal as air — full of moods as the sky. 

And subject to error and ill. 

Supreme autocrat of all other powers. 

Lord of the proud, imperious brain ; 
With jealousy, rage and revenge allied. 

And tragedy, hatred and pain; 
Yet noblest, divinest of all things in life. 

Since without it, no life is complete; 
What is love but passion, and passion love, 

Whose purpose is life to repeat? 

No accounting for all of its wayward ways. 

By no sacred tie is it bound ; 
Thro' very Hell it may worshipping go. 

Or inconstant, wanton around; 
Ourselves the emotion do not create. 

But each creates love in the other; 
Nor eternal it is, for it only exists. 

As we nurture it, or we smother. 

The tree knoweth not which way the wind. 
Its branches, unruffled, may bend ; 

Nor man knoweth not if forward his love. 
Or backward, in time, it shall trend. 



SOMEBODY HAS TO SIX 



275 



N'or is it the lickle alone who change, 
Nor the false who inconstant prove; 

Even hearts that break, for dear love's sake, 
More madly than ever may love. 

'T is only the ignorant and weak that vow. 

They will love forever and ever ; 
For little they know how trifling tlie thing. 

The strongest of loves may sever; 
Aye, the truest of love may turn to hate. 

And wed-lock be naught but vexation ; 
You may call it a love, that is "Joined by God,'^ 

But 't is only a desecration. 

AVhen the song harmonious to discord turns. 

When ended its rhythmic refrain. 
Then driven by fate, spite of church or state. 

Love seeketh its kin-ships again ; 
Oh, Love ! of every sweet passion the Queen ! 

Absolute, lawless, fetterless, free ! 
E^en as sunlight or sound — to nothing bound, 

Anarchist, Idealist, eternally! 



SOMEBODY HAS TO SIN". 

Some minds Nature makes as low as tlie clod^ 

To genius some she exalts; 
And all the long way betwixt the extremes. 

At eveiy foot-step she halts; 
The human brain she diversifies. 

In size and shape and degree, 
Making none alike, nor to think alike. 

But all of some use to be. 

Infinitely different all men she makes, 

To incline them different ways; 
To search out the infinite secret she hides 

From our wond'ring hunuui gaze : 



17 



276 liEMINISCE^-T RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Infinitely varied men, too, she designs, 
In the sense of right and wrong; 

In character, conduct, will and resolve. 
The weak she makes and the strong. 

'No levels there are in Nature's designs. 

All is mountain, hill or plain ; 
Nor either without the other can be, 

Likewise, the structure of brain; 
No level of thought or faith or belief. 

Can apply to human life; 
Each positive has its negative, 

Each peace its conquest and strife. 

Thus Nature her equilibrium holds. 

And sway o'er the human race; 
Maintaining her balance 'twixt right and wrong, 

As we fight each other for place; 
Essential is sin to the growth of man. 

Or else, it would never be; 
For, ever 't is sin inspireth the good. 

To fight for supremacy. 

Since Nature then, made the good and bad. 

And our beings placed them within. 
Then somebody has to do the right, 

And somebody has to sin; 
For, ever these forces in man, are at war, 

For mastery of his will; 
Some more than their share of good perform. 

Some more than their share of ill. 

If cliance I be good, and if you be bad, 

I certainly owe you much, 
For not only your share, but mine you bear. 

Of sin that holds you in clutch. 
To such as are good thro' breeding and ea^^e, 

And in soil superior grow, 
No credit to you is particularly due, 

For it only happened so. 



SOMKBUDV HAS TO STN 

Since the good are good at expense of sin. 

Most virtue is piously shammed ; 
And hard the heart in its virtue sec-ure, 

That ^ould damn the already damned. 
Maybe in the life that is next to come, 

Conditions will be reversed; 
The sinful here take the place of tlie good. 

The good the place of the cursed. 

For nature evolves through constant change, 

And disproportion her rule; 
In the place of the wisest man to-day. 

To-morrow may stand the fool ; 
And those who've borne the brunt of the sin, 
• Which Nature here has decreed, 
Best deserves a chance in the other life. 

And of frailty there be freed. 

Then since it be plain the good and the bad. 

In the human soil is sown, 
And unequal the sin imposed upon some, 

By never a choice of their own, 
Then a melting pit}^ show ye, for all 

In their degradation bound; 
AVho, burdened for life with your share of sin, 

Grovel ever close to the ground. 

Oh ! ye women, pure as the spotless snow. 

And chaste as the crystal ice, 
Your Puritan poise is only maintained. 

By your sister's shame and vice : 
And ye holy and wise, forget ye not, 

x\s ye soar in prayer and song. 
That you 're only able to do the right. 

Because somebody does the wrong. 

Somebody's daughters and somebody's sons. 
The sins of the future must bear. 

And the chances are the child of your heart, 
"Will carrv more than his shar(>; 



278 EEMINISCENT KHYMES A^D OTHEK VERSE 

If for jSTature's sins, you believe, at last, 
Into endless pain he '11 be Imrled, 

You 're the cruellest demon that ever lived. 
To have brought him into the world. 

Oh, men ! oh, women ! misguided in thought, 

With reason come ye and sup; 
No need from the future have men to be saved, 

But here to be lifted up. 
Life 's a battle betwixt the riglit and wrong. 

In which neither ever can win. 
For, while somebody has to do the good. 

Still, somebody has to sin. 



THE KIGHT AND THE WRONG OF IT 

There 's a Divinity, we 're told. 

Shapes every human end ; 
Within this Power, all wrong and right. 

And good and evil blend. 
Since He, Creator is of All, 

That to our lives belong, 
Why, then, should mankind worslup Him, 

For right and not for wrong? 

The facts are both always have been. 

And both have come to stay ; 
And all alike do wrong and right. 

Because we're built that way; 
Both right and wrong are purposed phms. 

Essential each the other; 
To wake the mind — in pity bind, 

Mankind as friend and brother. 

Tho' seeming cruel, Nature lays 
Upon poor man this stress — 

That his escape from ignorance. 
Compels him to progress : 



THE RIGHT AiSD THE WKOXG OF IT 27 \) 

Unevenly throughout the world. 

Distributes she the good; 
Alike, distributes sin and sliame. 

Through all of brotherhood. 

And neither praise and neither blame. 

To you or I belong, 
Since Xature thus, unevenly. 

Imposes right and wrong. 
If I be pure and you be vile, 

Your debtor great am I; 
For both your share and mine you bear. 

Of Nature's penalty. 

There ne'er was joy but at expense 

Of others being sad; 
There ne'er was good, but as some wretch, 

"Was burdened with the bad ; 
And none responsible can be. 

That thus they 're made to grow, 
Since in the Cosmos all things are. 

As Xature wills them so. 

Xo more the loam doth she condemn, 

Than flower that from it springs; 
No more the hard insensate rock 

Than moss that to it clings ; 
Xo more doth she condemn the black. 

Than she condemns the white ; 
Xo more the heat than cold she damns, — 

The morning than the night. 

Xo more doth she the thorn condemn. 

Than she condemns the rose ; 
What she approves, she surely loves. 

Alike our joys and woes; 
For her to damn aught she creates, 

AVould make of her a fool ; 
Imperfect man, imperfect made, 

A mere machine and tool. 



280 liEMl.NlSCKNT liliVMES AND OTHKK VJlKSL: 

Then off, ye priests, your Devils call; 

Your Gods of wrath as well; 
Cast down your Monstrous Judgment seats. 

Put out 3^our fires of Hell; 
When God, Himself, has not condemned. 

Should man, imperfect, weak, 
Upon his brother, likewise frail, 

Eternal vensreance wreak? 



CHILDREN'S EIGHTS. 

We may talk of the rights of woman. 

Of man, and the rights of race, 
But one I sa}', of all others to-day. 

Should first be given a place; 
And that is the right of the children. 

Well to be bred and born. 
Thus fitted for strife, and stations in life. 

Which dignify and adorn; 
Aye, the right to reason and question. 

The right of the brain to be free, 
The right to grow and the truth to know. 

Whatever the truth may be;. 
And which oversight is the cause of our plight. 

And most of our miser}^ 

Oh! there's statesmen, reformers, preachers. 

Proclaiming in lordly tone, 
The rights of the great, and of church and state. 

And the many rights of the grown; 
The rights of oppressed and oppressor. 

The rights of husband and wife; 
But never a fight are they winning, 
For right begins at the beginning, 

And not at the ending of life ; 
Aye, in lordly tone, the rights of the grown. 

They thunder with gestures wild. 
When their first concern should be to learn, 

The simple rights of the chilrl. 



TllK TKAMi' S KKl'KNTA^^CK 



1>.S1 



THE TRAMP'S REPEXTAXCE. 

Sweet was the music the church-bells made, 
As thc}^ roused the dreaming tramp in the shade; 
And he thought of the chimes of long ago, 
That rang through the vales he used to know : 
Ah! sweet as lost youth was their sacred ring; 
Ah! sweet the old hymns that he used to sing; 
Ah! sweet all the memories, tliat clustered tliore. 
And again his sad heart inclined to prayer. 

Up to the altar the vagabond came, 

And penitently bowed and knelt, 
"While the preacher preached of sorrow and sliamo, 

He himself had never felt; 
Of trials and tribulations he spoke, 

With a voice of such hollow ring, 
The tramp wished he 'd stayed out under the shade, 

AVhere the song birds soulfully sing; 
And the longer he knelt, the more he felt, 

'T was no place for such as he ; 
For nearer his God, he seemed on the sod. 

Lying under the wayside tree; 
Of the wrongs and rights, temptations and figlits. 

The hunger, the heartache and woe. 
Of the secret pain, at failing again, 

Xone but him and his God could know ; 
So, he ceased to pray, and went on his way, 

As silently as he came in; 
Murmuring — "Only those who ^'e l-nown life's woes, 

Can reach to the depths of sin. 



Oh ! poor old out-cast, wherever you be, 

Thy God is within thee still. 
As long as tlie birds in the wayside tree. 
Make for thine ear, sweet minstrelsy. 

And thy soul is attuned to the tluill. 
Of the whispering rune of mellifulous June, 

And the prattle and purl of the rill. 



282 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHElt VEKSK 



POETRY IX DEEP WATEPtS 

Those poets loneliest on the shelves 
Eemain, who tried to spread themselves 

In 'pearin^ deep, profound; 
Forgot they that the poet's art 
Consists in gettin' next the heart, 

Inside and all around; 
Once knee-deep in, beyond their depths. 

Too far they got — and drowned; 
Well 's other folks, posts have the whim 
0' wadin' out where they can't swim. 



THE POET'S THROXE. 

The cataract high in tJie untrod hills. 
With its cadences gay, the solitude fills: 

Falling and sprawling. 

Pouring and roaring. 
Exulting it thrills and speeds as it wills, 

Bright'ning and whit'ning 

The green of the hills; 

Leaping and flashing, 

Dashing and crashing, 
Into its basin spraying and splashing, 
Thus the flood of the mountain lake it spills. 
With naught to witness its Ivcen delight. 

But the firs and ferns and flowers; 
And the timid deer, and the rainbows blight. 
That span its curtain of snowy white, 

Through all of the sun-bright hours; 
And the mystic moon in the fairy nig] it. 

And stars through the elfin hours; 
With naught to join it in anthem and song. 
But echo and wild wind and feathered throng, 

And bass of the thunder showers; 
Thus the cataract from its airy throne, 
Fills all the hills with its mystical tone, 
In a fiolitiido sweet that is all its own. 



TIIK ^ENV .MUSK 28»> 

The poet lone in the heart's liigh hills, 
A solitude sweet with his spirit fills; 

Pondering and wand'ring, 

Beaming and dreaming, 
Exulting he thrills, as liis soul distills, 

Tlie music and beauty 

Of the heart's high hills; 

Springing and winging. 

Soaring and singiug, 
From his airy throne his bright thouglits flinging, 
Thus, the floods of his fancy he spills; 
With naught to witness his tvanton deliglit. 

But souls of the trees and flowers; 
And wood-nymphs that bathe in the waters briglit. 
With billowing bosoms and limbs lily-white. 

Thro' all of the rainbow hours; 
And sweet moon maidens in the sensuous niglit, 

Thro' the lavender languorous hours; 
With naught to join him in sylvan song, 
But Pan with his pipe and his dryad throng, 
xVnd birds in the blossoming bowers; 
Thus, the poet soul, alone on his throne, 
Fills the heart's hills with a mystical tone. 
In a solitude sweet, that is all his own. 



THE NEW MUSE. 

For something more the Muse was wrouglit. 
Than culling rare nose-gays of thought ; 
With all of Nature's flowery ways, 
The poet's pages fairly blaze ; 
With heaven, home and love divine, 
Like fullest skies, they starry shine; 
Before the mental appetite. 
All ecstasies and fancy bright. 

Profusely thick they spread, 
Until, so stuffed we 've grown with these, 
Spiced poetic delicacies. 

The whole world's surfeited. 



2b4 KKMlJS'lSCE^sT KHYMES Als^D OTHEK VEKSlS 

All well enough the flowery May, 
And nectared airs along the way; 
All well enough the Heaven above. 
And founts that gush eternal love; 
There ^s none but who ambrosia like. 
But taste and smell, revolt and strike. 

When with it over-fed; 
'Exhausted quite is poes}^, 
With love and immortality, 

All^s said that can be said; 

Give us new truths instead; 
Give us the light, that 's now in sight. 

The plain, bold truths of our time; 
Give us the thought that sets men right. 

Ye timid tinkers of rhyme; 

Ye cringing creatures of rhyme; 
Give us the truth that makes men free. 
Show us the man that is to be, 
In science, as faith, find poesy, 

Ye juggling Jesuits of rhyme. 



THE FIE ST PLOW MAN" 

With heroes great this old Avorld sliines. 

And statesmen of massive brow ; 
But not of these do now I sing, 
Nor for these do now my praises ring. 

But for him who made the plow; 
Ne'er watered he this joyous earth 

With tears of human blood ; 
But wrought to live, and to man give 

His future greatest good ; 
'T is not recorded when he was born, 

Nor where he lived and died ; 
But greater than primate or priest was he, 
And all of the heroes of land and sea. 

And Kaiser and King beside; 
For such, any nation can do without now. 
But how long could it live without tlie pic 



TllK >VAV (.»!•' TllK (iUDS 285 



MY LADY'S LILY-WHITE HAXD. 

As I BEXT to kiss her lily-white hand. 

The fairest I ever saw, 
Of her brute progenitor, I paused to think. 
Of his terrible teeth, and his vicious wink, 

And his huge and hairy paw; 
To crawl, to climb, to dig and to figlu, 

'T was wondrous made and strong ; 
To grapple and tear — to strangle the b(>ar. 

And to drag his carcass along. 

But cunning and craft lay hidden there. 

Within that powerful gra?p, 
And nimble beauty and tintings rare. 
And dimpled graces beyond compare. 

And love's hot thrill in its clasp ; 
Ah ! long the way from that shaggy paw — 

A marvelous way and grand. 
To the thrill and glow, and the pink and snow 

Of my lady's lily-white hand. 



THE Wx\.Y OF THE GODS 

Slow, cruel, hard, and terrible, the way 

Of the gods. Of gods, I speak, not of one ; 

For gods be many, and man-made are tliey all. 

They love, they hate. Sweet peace is not of them. 

For nature ne'er remains in long repose. 

Peace — an unnatural faith ! Xevcr yet 

Was peace, and ne'er 't will be. The gods create. 

But to destroy — nature's eternal law, 

To the destiny of struggle and strife. 

She binds all things. AVhat, then, is man ? 

The sport of fickle nature's frowns and smiles; 

A breath that goes almost as soon as comes; 

A mite amid the mad maelstrom of fate. 



!}86 KE>[INlSCE2sT KHYMES A^D OTUEK VKliSE 

Pitiless and eternal his fight for life; 

On every side beset by want, disease, 

Age and a thousand elemental furies; 

Fire, wind, flood, contagions many, that blast 

With blighting breath, the brightest infant bnds; 

Nor beauteous motherhood, nor genius rare, 

Xor pious worth, with the grim gods of fate, 

E'er favorites play. Life th^y set 'gainst life; 

Bird, insect, beast, and man, each against each — 

Existing each by cunning or by might. 

Soil man must seize, and with his blood defend. 

E'er he can cultivate it. Who hath not^ 

Are at the mercy e'er of those who have. 

Fnto him, who nothing hath — woe ! The life 

Dependent, is hell. Xo peace is his, who 

Upward gazes and aspires. Eight men must. 

As long as some have that which others crave ; 

Peace with perfection only, can abide. 

If peace, if perfect peace, ye then would have. 

Go seek it only where 't is found — the grave. 



'T is strength commands our first respect. Xe'er tame, 
Xor too peaceful then, should men or nations be. 
Lest they be quick despised. They suffer least. 
Who most are feared. Nothing to man belongs. 
Save as he by fear or force, defends it ; 
When not by his own hand, by state and law, 
"\Miich are but milder names for sword and gun — • 
For man, proud man, however great, is still 
No more, no less, the well developed brute. 
With e'er the brute's instinct to prowl and prey. 
Enough there be and more, in this great world 
For all; and each his share would get, if each 
AVere just. But so, the gods have not decreed; 
Who then would hold his own, his brother help, 
His country dear sustain, a prince of strife, 
As well as prince of peace must be. Times come, 
When man on warrior's food alone must feed. 
And stand equipped to face a fearless foe. 



THE WAY OF THE GODS 

Love and peace liatli their limits. Thou cans^t love 

Thy friend only. Who most of love liatli preached, 

The greatest haters e'er hath been. 'T is not in men 

To love those who M do them injury. Try it ! 

To love thine enemy is unnatural. 

"Who profess it most, practice it the least; 

Behind peace-prating nations fiercely frown 

Great navies and grim battlements of war. 

ThOu turnest a corner — a huge shape there, 

A human arsenal, gold-buttoned, laced — 

Insignia of the state^ — threatening stands. 

Where'er thou steppest, the assassin lurks ; 

Assassins of life, character and soul ; 

Of property, home, free-speech, right and trutli; 

And oft in sacred, as in royal garb, 

Sit they in highest seats of trust and power. 

Wisdom would have men brave, deliant, free-; 

Not enslaved by mystical Messiahs, 

Unredecming Eedeemers, tyrants divine, 

Nor by creeds delusive, or ethics vain; 

Peace is the hope of the coward. In peace 

Is no lordliness. In continuous peace 

No courage; naught but tame content and rest — 

A slow but settled sinking into slee]). 

Freedom from strife is but slow suicide. 

In meekness, weakness; in inaction, death. 

The weakling he, who thinks that he is good. 

Because non-combative and of lame arm. 

Upon self-assertion and self-reliance. 

The vigorous strong depend. Xot laml)-like. 

But lion-like the will of those who lead 

And sway; in whom tlie passions rise and rage; 

Men who conform not easily to faith, 

Obedience or rule; anarchs of thought, 

O'er whom no royal despot e'er can reign, 

Nor mystic master terrify; who stand 

Four square in body and soul ; who dare 

To think, speak, propose and act alone; 

Who, in their own true selves, tluir own gods ])v. 



288 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Peace, then I preach, but not unmixed witli strife; 
The strife to rise from out thy mean estate; 
Thyself protect; the ignorant defend; 
The tyrant overthrow; to be a force — 
A part of that which moves the universe ; 
To freely breathe; to conquer, seize and hold 
When self-existence, freedom, truth and right. 
And man's advancement, be the end in view. 
This, right or wrong, is nature's wilful way. 
This, man has always done; this will he do. 
For peace, like love, can ne'er be legalized. 

Love, then I preach, but not unmixed with hate — 

The hate of superstition, idolatry. 

The enslavement of mind, of woman, child; 

The exploitation of the weak and poor; 

The degradation of toil, and all things 

Cruel, corrupt, defiling, mean and bad. 

Of things I speak as nature hath designed, 

Xot as mild minds imagine they should be. 

For lengthened ears, these words hath not been writ. 



A SXOWY MORX. 

All through the hush of the winter night. 
The storm-clouds loosen their garments light. 
Laying their shivering bosoms bare, 
As they scatter snow flakes on the air; 
Down the dark void they silently sweep. 
To give surprise to the world asleep ; 
They robe the meadow, valley and hill. 
And mantle white the rusty old mill; 
The wood, where Summer revels in green, 
They change to sculptures of marbled sheen. 
And brier and bush to frost-friezes turn, 
Like arabesque shapes of vine and fern ; 
Noiselessly, gently, they cover all, 
Except the stream and the water-fall. 



A SNOWY MOKN 

The road, as if by some magic sprite, 
They change to a streak of wliite in wliite; 
The fences and furrows they soften down. 
And give each corn-shock a comical crown ; 
They cap the liay-stacks, and fringe the trees, 
Hood the gate-posts and the liives of bees. 
Tangle the hedges into a lieap, 
'Neath which the sparrows huddle to sleep. 
Half hide the old barn and sheds about, 
Bank the tall pump clear up to the spout, 
Droop the cedar bouglis down to the ground. 
Drift the high wood-pile to a great mound. 
Etch tlie shrubbery all 'round the place, 
"With matchless trimmings of magical lace. 
Cloak tlie roofs o'er the dreamers abed, 
And shroud the erraves of the dear loved dead. 



Happy the man who wakens to view. 

Rude nature transformed and made anew; 

"Who wakens to see the stains of the day. 

From the bare, brown earth all hid away; 

Who views the delight of flocks and herds. 

And wonder awakened by fowls and birds; 

The belated crow on his southern flight, 

Surprised at his black against the white; 

The ruffled snow birds in front of the dooi-. 

Looking twice as fat as they were before ; 

AVlio hears the glad voice of sheep and su-oi-, 

And the rousing shout of chanticleer; 

The cardinal's call from the pine's tall head, 

Well knowing the white makes his red more red ; 

While from limb to limb shrieks the jealous Jay, 

Declaring his blues are equally gay; 

Just where the birds come from, no one knows. 

But they're sure to appear whenever it snows. 



Who is it has never felt the change. 

Of this miracle of the night so strange? 

Who is it has not rejoiced at the sight 

Of the drnb earth changed to s])ot1o>s wliite. 



289 



290 



REMINISCE^'T KHYMES AND OTHER YEKSE 

And the naked boughs all strung with gems, 

Far finer than Sheba's diadems? 

The high browed hill, in the sun^s first glow. 

The fleece-wrapped valley stretching below, 

The broad mill-stream, which has darker grown. 

Because of the white around it thrown. 

And the fields all lying in calm repose, 

Beneath the soft robes of untracked snows. 

Who is it beholding all of these. 
Breathes not the hope of those prophecies, 
"Which lie deep hidden ^neath all belief, 
That joy must follow the gloom of grief? 
Who, seeing, has never vaguely dreamed 
That this robe of life, all worn and seamed, 
Dingy and tattered with earthly wear, 
Might sometime change to a garment fair. 
As free of all blemish, stains and scars. 
As the fleecy woof of the winter stars. 



OLD PIXK. 



Say, Bill, the banquet's just superb, but why so glum, old 

friend ? 
Come ! shake this pensive humor, and to tlie circle lend 
The genius of good fellow-ship, your cheery accents raise, 
Tor once again we celebrate our golden college days ; 
Come ! "Wreathe the bowl with flowers of souV^ as oft we used 

to say, 
AYliile we eat and drink, and sing and shout the menj hours 

away. 

Yes, Tom, we ' ve met to drown dull care, but somehow, do n't 

you know, 
A sadness falls upon me when the lights are all aglow, 
When the feast is spread, and music thrills, and old friends' 

voices rise. 
Then the luxury of the moment, brings tears into my eyes; 
For the contrast wakens memories of early toil and strife, 
z\.nd T almost feel I live again the saddest days of life. 



OLD PIMK 



291 



Which wrote their !:cars upon my heart, yes, wrote them tliere 

to stay: 
I will tell you all about them — 'twill drive their sting away; 
And then we '11 join the revel, and libations thick we '11 pour. 
To our dear old Alma Plater, and the strenuous days of yore, 
When by brilliant financiering we made expenses meet, 
xVnd turn about we cleaned tlie room, and cooked the things 

to eat. 

I was just a lad, the eldest of a family of eight. 
When a prison comrade wrote us of fatlier's tragic fate; 
To each he sent a message — his love and fond end)race. 
And particularly he charged me, that I should take his place; 
Ah ! those were sad, hard times, then, for mother and for me; 
And we even starved as father did, for home and liberty. 

The little patch of ground was poor, the taxes heavy lay, — 
The chickens and the single cow were oft our only stay; 
But by doubling every effort, we made out just to live, — 
We fed the little ones on milk, when we 'd nothing else to give — 
And oft would mother sigh and say, as in her chair she 'd sink, 
"I don't know wliat'd become of us, if it weren't for Old 
Pink.'' 



The children watched her down the lane, when we turned her 

out to graze. 
And to guard her from infringing on old ])eac()n Jenkin's 

maize; 
The fence was low and rickety, and once she bolted through. 
And trampled down in all, I guess, a hill of corn or two ; 
'J'he Deacon in the distance roared, and even cursed, I think, — 
ITe set his pack o' dogs upon her, and they killed Old Pink. 



Xext day we called upon him and ex})lained our heavv loss, — 
That life, itself, it meant to us — he was diihdent and cross, — 
Said, he was ''very sorry," but we must "certainly allow. 
It was n't any fault o' his, if we kept a jumping cow'*; 
So, home we trudged together, each speaking not a word. 
While new and fierce ambitions my raging pulses stirred. 
18 



292 KEMlIs'lSCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VEKSE 

I '11 leave you to imagine, Tom, the woes wliicli then befell, — 

A woman's tragic sacrifice, — a lad's fore-taste of hell; 

Ah ! whene'er I see bright garlands bedeck the hero's grave, 

I think of those neglected, who were equally as brave ; 

Who oft bore the brunt of battle, in conflicts fiercer far, 

Which ended — only with their lives — the widows of the war. 

And so it is, these luxuries recall that dreadful strife, 
The penury and the heartaches — the saddest days of life ; 
I 'd feel myself a guilty wretch, at feasting times like this. 
If I did n't think of mother, and her loving, starving kiss ; 
If I did n't hear aloud again, her trembling lips resound — 
"We '11 have no butter now to sell to the huckster on his round." 



She died still bravely battling, but lived to see the day 

When her boys and girls had started well up Fortune's slipp'ry 

way; 
To the Kingdom of the Blessed, they gave her no free pass, 
But let her take the cross-ties, with the poor and doubtful class ; 
The Deacon died long after, — rich and holy both was he. 
And they checked him through to Glory^ where saints and an- 
gels be. 

They say a bad act like a good act, through eternity shall roll. 
So that act of Deacon Jenkin's, Tom, will rankle in my soul ; 
And if e'er I get to heaven, which I 'm hoping for soine dav, 
I '11 collar that old hypocrite, right before the throne, and say — 
"You 're bleached until you 're white as snow, but your inside 's 

black as ink, 
And vou 're here on false pretenses — darn vc I You killed Old 
" Pink I" 



THE EMPLOYMENT OF EA^L 

Never yet was evil absent in man. 
Never 3^et could he wholly destroy it : 

Then his very first lesson should be to find 
The good in the ill and employ it, 



THE DISCO V Eli Y OF STEAM 293 



THE DISCOVERY OF STEAM 

Tittered the tea-kettle over the fire, 

Cluttered the steam in its glee, 
Whisp'ring low but clear, to eacli list'iiiiig ear, 
Te-he-he ! 
Come bridle me ! 
Come harness me ! 
You can, if only you '11 try ; 
Then over the land and over the sea, 
As swift as the wings of a bird we '11 flee. 
And in palaced chambers fly. 

Thus for ages grey, it had faintly told 
Its secret power to young and to old. 

But no one its meaning heard ; 
Till it chanced one da}^, it lifted the lid. 
And peeped from the pot, where 'twas slyly hid, 
And tittered again in its merry glee, 
Te-he-he ! 

Come bridle me I 

Come harness me ! 
Ah ! strange, very strange it seems to me. 
That the force I display, none ever can see; 
That my power, if multiplied and confined, 
Will speed great ships as fast as the wind ; 
Will turn every wheel in all of the land. 
And the mountains climb at human command. 
So it tittered on in its merry glee, 
Te-he-he ! 

Come bridle me ! 

Come harness me ! 
For a secret I have, which I 'm dying to tell. 
But I also joy in keeping it well ; 
Xature veils her wonders from human eyes, 
That the brain may have infinite CuXercise; 
But doubled the joy for men and for me, 
If they but seek my discovery ; 
Te-he-he-e-e-e ! 



294 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

A boy sat there, seeming half a-dream. 
Listening close to the song of the steam; 
The same old song it had sung o'er and o'er. 
But this time it sang as never before. 
Te-he-he ! 
Little boy ! Little boy ! 
AYith the listening ear. 
You wonder, I see, 
While others but licar! 
'T is a pity, but true, that thinkers are few. 
And no one my secret has questioned — but you; 
Kature ever is begging to be revealed. 
Loud she speaketh to all, tho' she be concealed 

List again, little boy, to me — 
If my power be multiplied and confined, 
'T will speed great ships as fast as the wind: 
Ah ! now I see. 
By the light of your eyes. 
And their pleased surprise. 
That you have discovered me : 
Te, he, he-e-e-e ! 
And now through your brain, 
Dashes many a train. 
And dizzily spinning are myriads of wheels. 
And parting the waters are a million keels; 
Te, he, he-e-e-e ! 
Come bridle me ! 
Come harness me ! 
Little boy ! Little b( y ! 
As great as your own is now my joy; 
Te, he, he-e-e-e ! 
AVith that it blew off the kettle's lid, 
And down in its bottom, giggling, hid. 



m A COMMON BOND 

To ALL men alike earth's joys belong, 
In common belong its terrors; 

Xo class has the right to monopolize aught 
Save its own ridiculous errors. 



THE JNIUIIT JlANMvS 



1395 



THE NIGHT HAWKS 

Or a Chapter of Errors ix the Lives of Johx and Ezekiicl 

Pattersox. 

Scene : Adams County, Ohio. 
Joiix Pattersox an^ 'Zekiel were purty close o' kin, 
Xot only wuz they brothers, but each wuz t^ other's twin; 
AVuz much alike as hen's eggs, 'at wuz found in the Siime nest, 
And every one got tangled as to which they liked the best ; 
And oftentimes their mother, for some trick 'at had been done. 
Had found she wuz mistaken, and had licked the other son; 
An' so puzzled wuz tlie teacher, when they disobeyed the rules, 
To get the right one, he licked both, on general principuls ; 
In foolin' folks they took delight, an' dressed in the same 

clothes. 
An' made a match as perfect as Shakespeare's Dromios. 
Xo difTerence betwixt 'em, 'cept a mole hid in John's hair, 
Which wuz kept a mighty secret, by this confusin' pair; 
Wuz always gittin' mixed up in deljts and scrapes an' sich, 
An' when they jined the meetin', the preacher axed 'em 

"Which"? 
But got twisted the next evenin', Avhen he called the house to 

prayer. 
For John — who at that moment, wuz a sparkin' Sylvia Ware: 
An' the day of the baptizin', 'way down in Turkey Creek, 
lie thouglit 'at he wuz sousin' John, w^hen he wuz sousin' Zoke. 
An' the girls wuz never certain when the kissin' plays wuz on, 
If they'd been kissed by 'Zekiel, or by his brother John; 
An' when 'Zeke for breach o' promise, wuz sued afore the squire, 
Tlie constable brought John to court, to face her angry sire, 
Wlio said to him — "Dod rot ye ! I '11 show you who is who*' ! 
"You 'd better first find out," said John, "jes' who you 're talkin' 

to", 
But Melindy, she was certain he wuz the guilty 'Zeke, 
So the trial then preceded, an' the lawyers 'gan to speak ; 
But soon the case was compromised, when John got up an' 

swore. 
On the honor o' Zeke Patterson, he 'd love her evermore; 
Then in his arms ^lelindy wildly rushed, an' warm wuz kissed. 
And the Justice said : "Ezekiel, the ca.se is now dismissed." 



296 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHEK VERSE 

No boys in all o' Jacktown wuz ez popular ez they, 

Whose saddler shop wuz loafm' place, by night ez well ez day; 

An^ finally wuz organized in the room jes^ up above, 

A club o^ choicest spirits, in fraternal bonds o' love; 

They called 'emselves "The Night Hawks", an' with many a 

doubt and frown. 
They came to be regarded by the good folks o' the town, 
Who hinted "thar wuz tipplin', an' playin' keerds a goin' on, 
'Bove the saddler shop o' Zekiel an' his twin brother John"; 
Well ez other shameful doin's, o' the most disgraceful kind — 
'T wuz said they 'd strip the candidate, an' then his eyes 'ould 

blind. 
Then roll him on a barrel, an' a tub 'ould plunge him in. 
Then each 'ould take a curry comb, an' help to dry his skin; 
An' next they 'd jine around him, in one fraternal link. 
An' make a zebra of him, with the help o' saddler's ink; 
Then make him swear 'at never with the secrets he would 

part. 
With a two-edged sword a 'pintin' directly at his heart; 
While dead men's bones in coffins would rattle all around. 
An' from ev'r}^ nook an' corner came a strange, unearthly 

sound ; 
An' hangin's, too, an' burials, an' sights 'at raised the hair, 
AVuz talked about in whispers, as bein' enacted there; 
An' the preacher at revival said: "Good -people of Jacktown, 
AYhere are your wand'rin' boys to-night? — ^goin' up or goin' 

down ? 
I do n't want to be personal, but the Devil 's raisin' a crop, 
Eight in our very presence, over a certain saddler's shop." 
Then some spake out right boldly, 'at the club was a disgrace, 
An' gradually wuz a pizinin' the morals of the place; 
An' John an' 'Zekiel Patterson, the sisterings all swore, 
Wuz 'countable for the doin's goin' on above their store. 

"NYhen at last a certain jiner got more tlian wuz his share. 
An' for several weeks thereafter wuz in Doc. Gaskins care, 
A burst o' indignation swept all over the good town. 
An' they said, "The Club 's a nuisance, an' it 's got to be put 

down". 
Both John an' Zeke wuz 'rested, an' brought 'fore Justice Zilc, 
When their lawyer, he demanded the riglit o' separate trial, 



lllK MGIIT HAWKS 



2\y 



Declaring 'at the premises wuz owned by John ahone. 

An' Zekiel war n't responsible for what he didn't own; 

When, to his satisfaction, this wuz proven in the case, 

The Justice said that John alone, the Court 'ould have to face ; 

So, "John Patterson", said His Honor, "arise an' stand for 

trial". 
When 'Zel-iel modestly arose, and bowed to Justice Zile. 

Then Trim Foster, his attorney, bcg-an with this remark: 

"Pears to me tlie prosecution is laborin' in tlie dark. 

All erbout a lot o' nuthin', it is makin' much ter do. 

Which I think 'at I '11 show 'em, afore this case is through ; 

Its got its gears all twisted, an' tangled at the start. 

As well 's its hoss a pullin' at the wrong end o' the cart ; 

An' o' this much I am sartin' — all the spite-work and the 

squawks. 
Come from ]\rasons an^ Odd-fellows, who 're jealous of the 

Hawks ; 
Since ilicij come purt nigh killin' P>ob Cochran and John Gregg, 
They ort n't 'buse the Xight Hawks, 'cause Buck Powley broke 

his leg. 
An' as to initiations, what wuz said might all be true. 
But they wuz n't a bit more dangerous, an' others 'at he knew ; 
An' to cv'ry one wdio 'd tried it, he 'd leave it to a vote, 
If the ridin' on a barrel wuz worse 'an on a goat; 
An' as to charge o' tipplin', an' playin' games o' keerds, 
He reckoned most men did that, afore they grew tlieir beards ; 
An' 'at all free-born Americans had the right to organize. 
In ways 'at suited best their own, instid o' pryin' eyes; 
An' to show the club wuz moral, an' deservin' no disgrace, 
He proved its members came from the best folks in the place ; 
An' further said the reason 'at some wuz showin' their spite, 
Wuz cause they tried to jine it, an' got black instid o' white. 

Then Deed Naylor, the attorney for the grieved, complainant 

side, 
Said 'at the distinguished counsel on the other side had lied; 
'T wuz a question pure o' morals, as a blind man plain could see. 
And he 'd waive all other questions, an' on that stand make 

his plea; 



298 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

An' the honest, straight opinions o' the best folks in Jacktown, 
In the throat o' Trimble Foster, he vraz goin' to ram clear 

down; 
An' it grieved him 'at Trim Foster, fer whiskey drinkin' stood, 
An' pla3dn' keerds an' gamblin' in the name o' brotherhood. 
Then, this conscientious lawyer -began to pl}^ tlie probe. 
An' called fer his first witness, the citizen, teacher Jobe, 
Wlio testified the Xight Hawks were givin' the town a name, 
For which, he an' many others, wnz made to blush for shame; 
An' Eeverend McNielan, with a solemn mien an' froT\Ti, 
Said he 'd rastled with the spirit fer a long time in Jacktown, 
An' religion sweet has prospered, an' all the means o' grace, 
Till the hoodlums called "The Xight Hawks" had demoralized 

the place; 
An' most o' the good ladies of the "We '11-See-To-You", 
Said they 'd have to be disbanded, or immediately put through. 
Thus time about they argued, on both sides, pro an' con, 
But the verdict found was, "Guilty", and fined wuz brother 

John; 
Up to Court the case waz carried, an' tested for a week. 
An' there dismissed, when it wuz found, 'at they 'd been tryin' 

Zeke ; 
West Union politicians are as smooth as they are wise. 
An' the order o' the Xiglit Hawks, wuz gittin' big in size, 
An' the 'Publican or Dimmycrat 'at turned one of 'em down, 
'Ould miss a lot o' hand-shakes, well as votes in old Jacktown. 
So they managed no discredit on Ezekiel should befall. 
Nor on a membership so vigorous an' honorable withal ; 
There wuz a sound o' revelry at the meetin' held next night. 
When JacktoAvn's "choicest" gethered — the lamps shone extra 

bright. 
Three dozen hearts beat happily, and as many voices chime 
With the organ 'at Sam Chapman had loaned 'em for a time; 
There wuz feastin' an' rejoicin', an' right eloquent the talks. 
At ye Grand an' Ancient Order of ye iSToble Night Hawks. 



'T was a custom when a member of this grand fraternity. 
Got married, he wuz given an old-fasliioned chivarie. 
He must spread a royal supper, an' give a dance beside, 
An' all tlie mGml)ers passed around to kiss the blushin' bride. 



TlIK xNKiHT J1AWK8 -iJt) 

An' other pranks as innocent, an' connnon to tliat day, 

Wuz indulged in by the Niglit Hawks, in tlieir own peculiar 

way; 
But that, in which invariably, tlicy took the most delight, 
Wuz keepm' up the dancin' the whole o' the weddin' night; 
An' some held out for breakfast, sayin' they know the brido 

'ould grieve. 
An' 'ould be very, very lonely, when all had took their leave. 
Sure, it took a lot o' courage for a member then to wed. 
An' Zeke Patterson wuz next in line to take this step abead. 
He'd had his neck in halters — a sword thrust at his breast, 
But a chivarie by the Xight TTawks, wuz ten times a tougher 

test. 
So he fell at once to plannin' how" to give the boys the slip, 
By gittin' hitched at Aberdeen, an' takin' a weddin' trip, 
Then steal back in a fortnight, at twelve, or thereabout. 
An' be at home for sev'ral days afore we 'd find him out. 

To head him off, we planned for John to go to Bradyville, 
An' call on Zeke's expected wife. Miss ]\rartba Agnes Mill; 
We bound him down with promises 'at he wouldn't fake or 

hedge. 
An' on the altar o' the Xight ITawks, he took the solemn pledge. 
He 'd find out about that weddin', thro' Zeke's intended wife, 
Tho' it broke the bond o' twinship, or even cost his life ; 
Then we drilled him with advices o' what he 'd have to do, 
To simulate a lover, like Ezekiel, warm and true; 
But John wuz on to courtin' in the good old-fashioned way — 
Took a holt 'ithout the askin', had alwuz sumpin' sweet to say. 
So, when he called on Martha, he saluted her like Zeke, 
An' gave her such a hugu'in', fcr a time she could n't speak ; 
Then chatted with the old folks, sittin' 'fore the hick'ry fire. 
Till at 9, they said — "It 's gittin' late — excuse us — we '11 re- 
tire" ; 
You can come purt-night a tellin' what vour mother-in-law 

'11 be, 
Ef she ain't a al^Tis actin', as tho' she 's the company ; 
Xor ain't all the time presumin' 'at you 've come to court her, 
An' has got the sense to git out, an' can a hint infer ; 
But Martha Agnes' parents were both models in this line, 
An' evaporated promptly when they saw 't wuz close to nine; 



800 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSK 

An' hardly liad they vanished, 'fore the cheers wuz turned 

around. 
An' John an' Martha Agnes in each other's arms wuz hound; 
An' soon they wuz conversin' all ahoiit their weddin' trip. 
An' how they 'd give the Night Hawks, an' some other folks 

the slip. 
As caressingly her fingers she tangled in his hair, 
A mole she chance discovered, 'at she 'd never noticed there ; 
An' surprised, she muttered softly, "Why 2ekiel ! on my soul! 
I didn't know 'twuz there before, but you've got a big, red 

mole". 
"Yes ! It 's growin', too", said John, who, embarrassed, gave 

a cough; 
"I 'm going to see Doc Purdy, an' have him take the darn 

thing off". 
Full o' radiance as heaven, the blissful hours flew by 
Like planets disappearin' in the early mornin' sky; 
There wuz kisses warm an' ruddy, their mutual troth to prove, 
An' squeezes 'at no girl could stand, except when she's iu love; 
An' the parting! Ah, the parting! It wuz nigh the dawn o' 

day, 
Before from Martha Agnes, he could tear his soul away. 

The following Sunday evenin' when Zekiel occupied 
The same cheer John had sat in, with Martha at his side, 
An' both the cheers had likewise been squarely turned around. 
An' the lamp 'at shone too brightly, to a flicker wuz turned 

down. 
Says she, "My dear Ezekicl, it 's rather long twixt kiss an' kiss. 
You wuz far more lilvc a lover last Sunday night than this. 

"Why, I wuz n't liere last Sunday night, you luean the week 

before. 
For you know I wont to Cynthiann to see John Xewton Moore." 

"Oh-h-h ! where 's your mem'ry, Zekiel ? Jos' look straight in 

my eyes ! 
You know quite well last Sunday how you took me by surprise. 
An' came when not expected; and you know how late you 

stayed. 
An' all the kisses 'nt you gave mo, an' lovin' vows you made; 



THK MIGHT JIAUKS »i01 

How vre talked about our wedclin/ an' secret of our trip, 

An' how we 'd give the Night Hawks, and otlier folks tlie slip." 

"Why Martha Mills! You're dreamin'! Bet }'e kiss 'gainst 

a dime, 
'At I could n't be at Cynthiann, an' here 'at tlie same time". 

*^*But to further prove it, Zekiel, I need ])ut tell you now. 
Of that mole 'at I discovered, back a little from your brow; 
lllght there it is! I'll prove it! Well! of all tilings' that is 

queer ! 
You 've cut it off, Ezekiel, since last Sunday you wuz here". 

^'What's all this mean"? said 'Zekiel, as he rose and scratched 

his poll. 
Where ]\Iartha said 'at she had found a certain secret mole : 
"You say I 'z here last Sunday? stayed till 3 A. M. next day? 
'At I acted more the lover? Couldn't tear myself away?" 
"Yes, Zekiel, twice as lovin" ! "'At we talked then of our tri]) ? 
An' how we 'd give the Night HaAvks, an' some other folks the 

slip?" 
"Yes, Zekiel! Don't 3^ou 'member?" "x\n' while fingerin' iu 

my hair. 
You said you found a big, red mole 'at ain't no longer there?" 
"Yes, Zekiel, on my honor! Ev'ry word is true, I say". 
"But / know 'at I 'uz at Cynthiann, 'bout twenty miles away ; 
An' I 'm sure I ain't no Sheridan, 'at raced here in an hour, 
An' I don't believe the spirits has got me in their power; 
Ah ! I see ! The dawn is breakin' ! It 's 'ginnin' to git clear ! 
Great Heavens ! Martha Agnes ! That confounded tJohn 's 

been here !" 

"Ow-wou-ee-oo !" from ^fartba Agnes came a lonix jirotracted 

yell, 

Which brought Dad an' ^lam in nia-htcaps, who, frii^ditened, 

said, "Do tell !" 
"What 's the matter, 'Zekiel?" "Win-, she 's fainted, I declare" ! 
But all that Zekiel could do, wuz jes' to stand and stare; 
An' ^lartha, soon recovering, opened wide her 'stonished eves, 
An' said, "I dreamed o' Night Hawks, screechin' 'round me in 

the skies, 



302 ltEMI^■ISCE^'T KHYMES A^D OTH Eli ^ EKSE 

Oh, save me ! Save me, Zekiel ! Save me from ^em, dear, I 

pray— 
D' ye think 'at John has told 'em all about our weddin' day ?'' 
"ThinJi f Why, it 's as sure he 's told 'em as anything can be, 
An' it 's plain 'at we 're elected to stand that chivarie ; 
I '11 strangle that durn rascal as soon as I git back !" 
"Oh, please don't, dear Ezekiel," said Martha with a smack; 
"For s'pose it had been different, an' you 'd been in the whim, 
I would n't put it past you, if you 'd done the same as him. 
For all 'at I can hear, dear Zeke, you 're jes' as bad as he, 
An' in that breach o' promise suit, 't wuz him 'at got you free ; 
I can see no diff'rence twixt you, except that tell-tale mole. 
Yes — there \s a liiUe difference — now do n't be mad, dear soul, 
In the ancient art o' lovin,' lie can't be improved upon, 
An' you might, in ilxat way, Zekiel, be a little more like John." 

John Patterson an' Zekiel long since have passed away. 
As well as man}^ customs of that far distant day; 
An' new-fangled st3des o' livin, crowd out the plain an' old. 
But they ain't so true an' real, nor got the ring o' gold ; 
The lawyers, then, knew less o' law, but they could speechify, 
Wuz full o' fire an' eloquence, an' could make the jury cry ; 
An' preachers then wuz preachers, for they could raise a shout. 
An' meetin's lasted nigh to twelve, but now, by nine, they 're 

out; 
An' the doctors war n't so larn'd, an' most of 'em would farui. 
An' tho' they did but little good, they could n't do much harm. 
An' th' people all in gin'ral wuz healthy, hale an' strong — 
rjafsed twice as big a family, and lived nearly twice as long; 
An' the jokes A^aiz all original, an' darin' an' unique. 
As I have illustrated by John Patterson an' Zeke ; 
An' character an' chivalry prevailed in all the walks 
An' examples of Ye Order of Ye Xoble Xiglit Hawks, 
Sure tliere 's nothin' more inspirin' to me than writin' rhymes, 
'Bout dear old Adams County, and them good-old-fashioned 

times. 



THE TYKAMT STKUKG 3U3 



THE LEXGTH OF LIFE. 

^T IS not how long or short 3^011 've lived, 

But just how well and much; 
If with the world, you ^^e dwelt apart, 

Or with it kept in touch ; 
Tho' a hundred years, one place you 've tilled, 

/Vnd can no change recall, 
Nor revelled long with love and song, 

You ^'e hardly lived at all. 

Aye, much and well live each hright day; 

To-morrow you may die; 
No pleasure miss, no burning kiss, 

That passes, flirting by; 
For life at best is but a farce, 

A brief, uncertain hour; 
We prize the rose, not as it grows, 

But for its fleeting flower. 

The pleasures pure of mind and lieart 

Indulge like rapturous bards; 
And those intense, of each keen sense, — 

Toil's soothing sweet rewards; 
So, get your worth, of pain on earth. 

Do n't be a monk instead ; 
For when you go, for all you know. 

You '11 be a long time dead. 



THE TYKANT STKONG 

That love and kindness should belong 
To all the great and wise and strong. 

The right thing seems to me; 
For they, of all, can ill afford 
The sweet humanities to hoard, 

Or add to misery; 
But strange tlie strong, 'round whom men throng. 
And look for right, sliould join with wrong 

And tyrant despots be. 



304: BKM1>'1«CK^T KHYMES AND OTHER VEKSK 



MODERN GKEAT PHILAXTHEOPY. 

Somehow, the greedy rich regard 

The toiling poor their prey; 
Somehow, they never come to know 
How far in stealing they should go, 

(What^s the poor for, anyway?) 
Tho' enough they gain to ease their fears. 
And live like kings a thousand years. 

Still more they want each day ; 
They crush the weak beneath their feet. 
The widow and the orphan beat, 
The stupid toiler squeeze and cheat, 
Nor cease till they monopolize 
The very earth and sea and skies. 

x4nd when to billionaires, at last, 
They ^^e mighty grown, and backward cast 
Their eyes, upon their sordid past. 
Then suddenly they righteous grow. 
And let the world their goodness know. 

And sanctity; 
Astonished, shocked, they stand amazed. 
When told that half the world is crazed 

By poverty; 
Yea, much surprised are they and dazed. 

That such could be; 
And with lifted e3'es, they humbly pause. 
To wonder what could be the cause 

Of so much misery; 
And now, these sweetly scented saints, 
Eelieved by prayer of all their taints, 
And meekest grown of all the asses. 
That dignify rich bible classes, 
Tuni to philanthropy. 

Then proudly swell their generous hearts. 
As churches they endow and arts, 
And missions, schools and libraries — 
(For the guilty conscience must ]iave ease), 



life's three gkeatest necessities 805 

And a crumb return, of all the cake, 

To those they '\e robbed — *'For Jesus sake/' 

Still mounted on the Throne of Grace, 

Among the Bulls they keep their place. 

Still keep their eves on all the pools, — 

Their daughters sell to titled fools — 

Xor e'er their grasping clutch release 

From starving throats, till death cries, "Cease !'' 

Then loud the pean and the praise, 

Men to their worth and virtue raise, 

And highest mount them on the lists, 

Of this world's great philanthropists. 



LIFE'S THREE GREATEST NECESSITIES. 

First, get ye Health, without which, life 

Is but a misery : 
Then get ye Wealth — enough to live 

Independently ; 
Enough — no more — than to maintain 

A mind and body free ; 
Then having Health and Wealth ac(iuired. 

It 's up to every one. 
Whatever else you get in life. 

Get Fun. 

The one thing most which all men iuhmI, 

And which they least can spare ; 
The young heart's joy — the old's delight. 

The balance wheel of care; 
So get it, get it where you can, 
It 's yours by right of Nature's plan 

To counteract despair ; 
In coming, going all life's ways. 
In "fellows hail", and holidays, 
In youth and beauty, music, art. 
In sweet exchanges of the heart, 



306 KEMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHEK VEKSE 

In love and kisses, wine and song, 
(Of ccurse I bar the bad and wrong). 
But get it, get it all day long — 
Just get it anywhere. 

In hardest toil or deepest thought, 
!N'o worthy place where Fun is not; 
So get it, get it on the spot; 
Why live for pleasure by and by, 
AYhen every minute 3'ou may die? 
"Why live at all, if you can not say, 
At each sunset, "I 've lived to-day"? 

So, get ye Health and Wealth and Fun, 
The happiest Three, I know in One, — 
You may be dead, e'er day is done. 



THIS MEAX OLD AVOELD. 

ISTo MATTER how we brace ourselves up. 

And this stern old world def}', 
We but pretend a seeming content. 

And ever we act the lie ; 
No matter how bravely we face its ills. 

Its sunshine with shadows weave, 
Our optimism is mostly naught. 

But a poor blind make-believe ; 
A cheat, that somehow seems for ilie best. 

And so, ourselves we deceive. 

! a mean old world is this good old world. 

However, you may take it ; 
As full of cruelty, hates and lies. 
And sins and sorrows of every size. 

As the devil well could make it ; 
Aye, want and suffering, age and despair, 
Darken each da}^, however fair. 
And death must come, then where, where ? 
And who, for m.ore than a day, will care, 
Wlien this miserable, measly, mean old world, 

At last, vou have to shake it. 



THE U>;KXl*liKbSED 

THE UXEXPRESSED. 

Ah, me! the thonglits that daily throng 

My soul to be expressed ; 
That fleet as swift as clouds adrift. 

On winds that never rest. 
Forever thus they come and go, 

Sky-larking through the biain. 
And visions rare without compare. 

Seen once, and ne'er again; 
When e'er I 'd capture them for speech. 
They flit at once beyond my reacli. 

And blend them with the sky ; 
'T is thus ten thousand visions rare. 
And fire-fly fancies flashing fair. 

Like startled birds brush by ; 
So swift and many-hued tlicy seem, 
I but realize them half a-drcam. 

And waking cry, "Ah, me!*' 
If only with me they would stay. 
Till I their beauty might poitray. 
Till I their meaning might convey, 

A poet I might be ; 
x\h, me ! x\h, me ! 

A poet I might be. 

Why write, I ask me o'er and o'er. 
Why sing of that 's been sung before. 

The same old stories tell? 
Why write at all when well I know. 
That I am lowliest of the low— 
A weed, that springs where roses blow. 

And beauteous excel ? 
Why write at all, when torturing care 

E'er sets the brain to aching? 
When aye the heart is sore with pain. 

And often nigh to breaking? 
When misery e'er is masked with smiles. 
And joys remain such little whiles, 

They 're hardly worth partaking? 
19 



307 



308 liiiMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VEKSE 

Why stumble on from day to day, 
E'er hoping that perchance I may 
Just one song write, and so, like Gray, 

A lasting fame secure? 
Not mine the will ; some mystic power 
Sends visions each despondent hour, 

My timid thoughts to lure ; 
Soft shadowy shapes — a seeming shower 

Of fairy forms, that dwell 
Where lovers stray at cool of day, 

In woodland glade and dell; 
And e'er they seem to follow me. 
Awake, asleep, where'er I be, 

To lure me by their spell. 
Ah, me ! Ah, me ! 
If only with me they would stay. 
Till I their beauty might portray. 
Till I their meaning might convey, 

A poet I might be — 
Ah, me ! Ah, me ! 

A poet I might be. 



THE OLD CANDLE MOLDS. 

Theke ^s a feeling comes to most of men, in all sincerity. 
That times and tastes and people ain't what they used to be ; 
The coffee and the biscuits, the pudding, pie and cake. 
Are never like the cooking our mothers' used to make ; 
No matter how our comforts expand and richer grow. 
They somehow lack the relish of those of long ago ; 
And nothing seems so real, be it friendship, love or truth, 
As the simple, sweet exchanges of our glorious golden youtli. 

The office work had long been done, and late had grown the hour, 
*No sound fell on the city, save the chimes from out the tower, 
In my easy chair, reclining, T turned my weary sight. 
From the classic page before me, to tlie incandescent light. 
That brightly scintillated, and threw far its brilliant rays. 
And I thought of the tallow candle, of my early boyhood days; 



THE OLD CA^DLE MOLDS 



:wj 



And the old country home-stead, with its firephiee liigh and wide, 
'Iiound which the family gathered, in the cheery evening tide, — 
And of how the times have changed, with invention's busy hand, 
And the comforts and conveniences we now have at command. 
But after all, I asked myself, has happiness kept pace. 
With this rushing world of progress, and fight of men for place? 

Is the velvet cushion softer than tlie stool on which I sat, 

While stirring apple butter, or shelling corn into my liat, 

xVnd dreaming o'er my boy dreams of trips on land and sea, 

xVnd the mighty possibilities the world held out for me? 

Is the water any purer, does it clearer leap and flow? 

Do the steam pipes warm and cheer me, like the old hearth's 

tender glow? 
Am I happier reading Plato 'neath the brilliant lighted wire. 
Than reading Israel Putnam, by the candle's mellow fire ? 
And then I fell to musing on the quaint things mem'ry holds. 
And how I used to clean and fill the old candle molds. 

I 'd cut the wicks and twist the ends, which thro' the pipes I \l 

shove, — 
Stretch the others on the cross-sticks which lay just up above. 
Then melt the chunks of tallow, and pour it in each space. 
Till every tube was brimming full — a dozen in each case; 
Xext set them out upon the porch to cool a little while, 
Then lift the long white beauties out, and win my mother's 

smile. 
If every one was perfect, and be praised for all my skill ; 
While father 'd say — "He's just the boy that alwavs fills the 

bill;" 
And I was just the boy, they knew, that needed lots o' praise. 
To keep me helpin' round the house, and out of evil ways; 
The common lot of mo>t of boys, is endless whip and nag. 
And thousands ne'er incline to good, for lack o' praise and brag; 
They 're expected to be perfect, all gold without alloy, 
Sure, it takes a philosopher, to understand a boy. 

The molds and tallow candle both, have long been put aside. 
For the carbon and the lightning, that throw their beams so wide ; 
And tho' they shine the brighter, and assist my failing eyes, 
T can't associate them wit1i the old home's tonrler ties: 



^UO 3iEMI^'ISCE2sT KHYMES AND OTHEK VERSE 

TIio' greater is their power, and more dazzling is their glare. 
And in working or in reading, you may sit 'round anywhere, 
Tho' there 's comfort and convenience in their ever brilliant 

glow, 
But affection *s in the candle of the days of long ago. 
For the family grouped around it, and each drew close his chair, 
To tell their evening stories, or .their lessons to prepare. 
And heads and hearts grew closer, in the freezing winter night, 
'Eound the old dining table, and the candle's softened light ; 
I can see my father, reading from his Milton or his Burns, 
And my mother, at her sewing and knitting taking turns. 
And all us children studying hard, to get our lessons done. 
And win the golden promise of an hour of romp and fun. 

Ah ! these are the memories dear, that stir the aged heart, 
That bring back the old times, of which the candle was a part; 
You may spurn it and deride it, and compare as you may, 
Its faint and feeble flicker, with the arc light of to-day. 
But never in our history, will the stories grow old. 
And never while a nation, will they cease to be retold, 
Of how our gi^eat fore-fathers armed and gathered for the fight, 
AVhile their brave dames made the bullets bv tlie candle's dim 

light; 
And how they signalled with it, from the old Xorth-Clmrch 

spire. 
To tlie distant Continentals, — their patriotic souls on fire; 
How Lincoln learned to read and write, by its faint and flick'ring 

beams. 
And other men of greatness penned their country's glowing 

themes. 
How, 't was all the light they had, in that old cabin time, — 
And how it lit the family circle, with a radiance sublime. 

But there 's one cherished picture, deep in my memory set. 

As in that of many thousands, who well remember yet, 

Tlie look upon the faces of the women reading news, 

From those along tlie battle lines, in the sixty ones and twos ; 

'T is the picture of my mother, the candle in her hand, 

Reading o'er and o'er the letters, from far-off Dixie-land; 

Of the marches and the battles — the dying and the dead, — 

TTow he'd love to see his babies, all asleep within their bed, — 



A J.OUK UroX TlIK SI A' oil 

How he often yearned to wake them, and feel their clinging 

touch, — 
And did they ever talk about him, or seem to miss him much ? 
Yes, I see in dreams, my mother, care-worn her face, but bright, 
Eeading fathei-^s old war letters by the dear candle light. 

So, do n't wonder that I love it, and if it sometimes seem to mo. 
That things ain't quite so good, to-day, as once tliey used to ))e ; 
If memories more tender round the tallow candle cling, 
'T is because they 're somehow restful, and sweet reflections 

bring; 
I 've liad sorrows which I would n't want to have to live again, 
But as mucli of happiness, perhaps, as comes to most of men, — 
I 've all the comforts of the city, books rare in prose and rhyme. 
But I can not say I 'm happier, than in that olden time. 
When I heaped the fireplace high, with crackling hick'ry wood. 
Took a lighter, made of paper, that on the mantle stood. 
And touched it to the candle, then placed it on the stand. 
To read of Israel Putnam, and his Continental band ; 
And so I sit and smoke, and muse, on the quaint things mem'ry 

holds, 
And of how I used to clean and fill the old candle molds. 



A LOOK UrON" THE SLY 

"Whexe 'er with beauty man is charmed. 
That moment, he becomes disarmed ; 
For such is beauty's power and might. 
He stands enraptured at tlie sight, 
And in a seeming mental maze, 
Transfixed, he '11 rudely cast his gaze. 

As she goes tripping by ; 
Or else, his boldness will conceal. 
And like a thief, unseen, he '11 steal — 

A look upon the sly. 

What other joys of life that bless, 
Like those of woman's loveliness? 
The neatness, taste, and air refined. 
The charm of body, mirth of mind, — 



12 liEMINlSCENT RHYMES A^D OTHER VEKSE 

The myriad Mays within her face, — 

The billowing bust which bounds the space, 

Where sweetest passions lie; 
A form, which seeing, quick would make. 
Old Phidias to his chisel take. 

Well 's — a look upon the sly. 

With beauty such, I daily meet, 

Wlien passing down the crowded street; 

Here comes she now — a being bright. 

As e'er was pictured on my sight ; 

I step aside to feast my eyes, 

On charms that thrill, but tantalize. 

And lead me deep to sigh. 
That beauty so my soul should stir. 
When all that I can have of her. 

Is — a look upon the sly. 



ADVERSITY. 

Tranquil and silent the greater griefs. 

The little are noisy and loud; 
And ever serene true manliness. 

When fortune parts from the proud ; 
Great, great is the man who having lost, 

AVitli never a murmur nor groan. 
Is calm in neglect, and with self-respect. 

Stands bravely and squarely alone. 

The spark of the flint remains unseen. 

Till the steel reveals its form, 
And ever the brightest thunder-bolt 

Comes out of the darkest storm : 
You may crush with defeat the truly great. 

Drive a hearse clear through his soul, 
And the whole o' the town, may trample him rlown. 

But he won't remnin in the hole. 



UllKliH THE FLAG ^VAVKS liKlUHTKST 

THE LOST FOOTPRINTS 

Her life was like a snow-field — 

A white and boundless plain, 
In which she left her footprints, 

Bnt ne'er a single stain ; 
Tliose little tracks lead far away, 

I know not where they go, 
Bnt enongh for me that they are lost 

In the pure and stainle>=s snow. 



;u:^ 



WHEEE THE FLAG WAVES BRIGIVrEST 
T' WAS in a country graveyard. 

The last of flowery May, 
Old soldiers brave stood round a grave. 

And children dressed so gay ; 
The Nation's flag they planted there, 
And decked the grave with flowers fair ; 
Oh ! how they brightened all the air 

As on they went their way. 
From grave to grave they slowly strayed. 
On each bright garlands gently laid. 
And starry banner there displayed : 
Oh ! what a glorious sight they made. 
On that Memorial Lay. 

The graveyard glowed as ne'er before 

\Yith red and blue and white; 
In newest dress of loveliness 

That e'er fell on the sight ; 
AVhen o'er the dead the flags stood round, 
I fancied that with sudden bound 
Their spirits leaped from out the ground, 

Arrayed again for fight; 
To comrades brave and children gay 
^klethought I heard them proudly say, 
"The Flag of Freedom floats to-day 
O'er Boys in Blue and Boys in Gray,— 

Deck ALL in colors bright!" 



^14 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHElt VEKSh! 

And remember, Comrades, we 're not all 

AVere given wound and scar; 
Not all the tried who fought and died. 

Not all the brave, by far; 
For some a greater burden bore 
Than we who fell in pools of gore, 
For they fought on till life was o'er — 

The Widows of the war ; 
Who lived to bind the wounds that bled 
Long after we, they loved, were dead ; 
Their hopes, their loves forever fled — 
Plant lilies on each sacred head. 

And flag of stripe and star. 

Beside a mound I lingered long, 

Myself some flowers to strew; 
My heart beat wild as, when a child, 

I saw him first in blue; 
So stately tall he stood, and grand. 
And proudest boy in all the land. 
Was I, who tightly held his hand, — 

And proud and prouder grew, 
When next I saw him marching by. 
Bearing his country's banner high. 
To keep it to the front or die, — 
Naught else on earth or in the sky 

Was e'er so grand to view. 

O'er gilded dome and capitol 

I 've seen that banner wave — 
From flag-staff high in towering sky 

Above the city pave; 
I 've seen it floating on the breeze 
In foreign lands and distant seas; 
But seemed it ne'er so bright on these. 

As on the soldier's grave ; 
For here it speaks of prison bar. 
Disease and death, and wound and scar, — 
Of freedom, country, glory, war; 
Thus may it wave in ages far 

O'er the immortal brave. 



LUVk's Al'FlxMTlKS .'>i 



FENELONE 

So SPiRTT-LiKE slie Came to earth, 

So spirit-like she grew, 
A few bright years she scattered mirth 

And love on all she knew. 

So softly, then, she closed her eyes, 

So silent stole away, 
'T was like the starred night growing pale 

And blending with the day. 

I know not to what realms of thought. 

Her spirit wafted thither ; 
I only know the Heaven she brought. 

And the Heaven she took with her. 



LOVERS AFFIXITIES 

The flower without a perfume 
The tree without a fruit. 

However gay or lofty. 
Attracts few lovers to it. 

So beauty, void of virtue. 
Hath lovers few to woo it; 

But where they are united. 

Love with it would be pliglited. 

As purely blends the perfume. 
Of the flower with its hue ; 

As opes its odorous bosom 
For kisses of the dew ; 

So he who loves the beautiful 
Is sure to love the true; 

And with truth and beauty pliglitrd 

The whole world is delighted. 



31(5 KKAiiM8(JE2<T KlIiMJtS A2^D OTHEK VEK6E 



GONE HOME 

These Aut-umn days I love to stray 

About a graveyard old, 
To read the storied messages 

That there are quaintly told; 
How some ''Asleep in Jesus" lie^ 

And some are just — '"At Rest/' 
How some are evermore — "At Peace/' 

Some — "Gone to join the Blest." 

And just — "Gone Home" have many more. 

Forever there to dwell ; 
And this the sweetest story is. 

Of all the tombstones tell ; 
Oh ! grand the palaces of men, 

While homeless millions roam ; 
But death, Avithout distinction, gives 

To each a common home. 

As oft in life we travel far. 

And tarry long away. 
And, wearied, yearn to go back home, 

Forever there to stay; 
Just so, age-wearied, do we yearn 

To go back to the clod, 
To blend with nature, whence we sprung. 

And be again with God. 

With that mysterious thought or power. 

We know not what it be ; 
But out of which there comes all good. 

All joy and misery; 
Which giveth all and taketh all 

Back to its warm embrace ; 
Destroying neither good nor bad. 

Preserving every trace. 

Of all the dead, there 's none that 's lost, 

No record bad is here ; 
*'At Peace;' ''At Best," ''Asleep," they lie, 

And claim not e'en a tear; 



death's GAUDKX tU7 

On friend and foe of every faith 

The sliowers of summer fall ; 
And sun and pLanct, moon and star 

Alike glow over all. 

Some live in memorj^ but a day. 

Some live perhaps a year. 
But be they humble, be they j^reat. 

In time all disappear; 
All back to nature slowly stray, — 

Like weary wanderers come ; 
Nor Heaven nor Hell await them not. 

For all have just ''Gone Iloine." 



DEATH'S GARDEX 

Way down in a velvety valley, 

"Wliere a brook laves its shadowy shores. 
And its surges sing as they sally 

Twixt the silvery sycamores; 
There a gate leads to a green garden. 

The fairest among the fair, 
Where Mem'i'y with Death stands warden 

Over many a treasure there; 
And oft through its haunted highways. 

Past the stately shafts I rove. 
And on by the bowering by-ways, 

xVnd templed tombs of "Spring Grove." 
From the floods the fountains are flinging 

Their crystal tears to the sky, 
And birds in the solitude singing 

Where the rills run rippling by, 
And the wan widow willows are weeping, 

Sorrowing sentinels true, 
And the mournful myrtle comes creeping 

To veil the fresh earth from view. 

Here where nature and art beam brightest 

'Xeath the sunny summer sky, 
Oft I 've thought that death would seem lightest 

If only here I could lie; 



318 IIKMIXISCKNT KIIYMKS A.ND OTHER VJaiSK 

If here through the ages eteTnal 

flight mingle my mortal clay, 
E'er to blend with beauty supernal. 

And with spirit fragrance stray; 
But no longer the velvety valle}^ 

Xor brook Avitli flower-fringed shore. 
Nor dale where the daffodils dally 

And the crystal fountains pour, 
Nor the knoll where the willow stands M'oepin 

By the stately shaft of art, 
Nor pool where the lily comes peeping, 

Slyly disclosing her heart. 
Nor the swan-flecked lake, nor the rill-side. 

Nor shadowy sylvan lea, 
Hath the charm of a distant hillside. 

For there lies — My Marjorie. 



In glow or in gloom she was my light. 

My sunshine all of the day. 
From twinkle of morn to the twilight. 

And when the stars softly sway; 
But there on the hillside she 's sleeping 

In all of earth that I own; 
"Where the scintillant sun first comes peeping. 

And where his last smile is thrown; 
There I hear her glad voice in the tliruslies'. 

As it falls on the fragrant air. 
See her angel-sweet smile and her blushes 

In the roses blooming there; 
And there oft in reverie I 'm roaming, 

x\nd to rest me there I pine; 
AVliile she grieveth down in the gloaming, 

To mingle her dust with mine; 
So no other spot in Death's Garden 

Is ever so fair to me, 
As where Memoiy, mourning, stands warden. 

For there lies — ^fy Marjorie. 



o? 



U.N CE AGAIN THE FKUST IS CROPPING 31i) 



A LITTLE GRAVE 



"You should not go to the graveyard, 

Xor wear such mournful mood. 
For it only adds to suffering. 

And it can't do any good ;" 
So speak our friends in mild reproof. 

And meaning well, T know : 
But they know not how dear tlie spot 

Each Sunday where we go. 

Ah ! little dream they of the peace 

Instead of pain it gives : 
As closer to her precious dust 

"We feel she lives — slie lives; 
But whether it be so or not, 

Sweet raptures thro' us stir, 
W'hen wife and I sit iust as nio-h 

o o 

As we can get to her. 

Our loves, our hopes, our very li\es 

Seem now to center here; 
Oh ! who would think a little grave 

Could make a place so dear ? 
And realizing here, at last, 

To stay we, too, must come, 
"Why, then all 'round this little mound 

Seems just as dear as home. 



OXCE AGAIX THE FKOST IS CKOPPIXG 

OxcE again the frost is cropping 

Its wealth of golden leaves ; 
Once again they 're softly dropping. 

And the withered woodland grieves ; 
Once again the nuts are falling 

Down from their airy height : 
Once again the crows are calling 

To join their southern flight. 



320 KEMINISCENT KHTMES A2nD OTHER VEKSE 

Touched is all of floweiy nature 

With the fingers of decay ; 
Cometh now to every creature, 

The thought, "Away ! Away r 
Earth.no longer is light-hearted, 

A voice seems calling, "On !** 
Some already have departed, 

Some waiting to he gone. 

Once again the frosts are cropping 

The leaves above her head ; 
Once again they 're softly dropping 

Upon her grassy bed ; 
Oh ! meet that the forest olden, 

Now growing bleak and bare. 
Should spread its w^ealth so golden 

O'er one so bright and fair. 



THE FIRST SXOW-FALL 

I LOOK far out upon the town- 

At winter's first snow-fall ; 
And as the big drops loiter d()\rn. 

Sad memories they recall : 
'T was thus they fell one wintry day 

Upon tlie graveyard old ; 
"J' was then Ave laid our babe away. 

To mingle with the mold. 

And ere we left, the fleecy flakes 

Had whitened her small mound. 
As if to soften, for our sakes. 

The sight of the bare ground ; 
And now I love to see it gust 

Down from the dreamy skies : 
Again 't is robing our dear du>t. 

That in the graveyard lies. 



UKU JJIIMIIDAV 



321 



WHEN THE DAYS COME AGAIX 

WiiEX the days come again lliat we used to love. 

My bweet little girl aud I, 
I look all around, and I look far above. 

Into the beautiful sky; 
Oh ! where has the little girl gone that I knew? 

I ask through a blinding tear. 
Where the joy and surprise that beamed in her eyes, 

And her Christmas shout and cheer? 

Oh ! where are you now, when old Santa comes 'roiind, 

The Xew Year, and Saint Valentine? 
And the bright birthdays, when our hearts were ablaze,- 

Sweet mamma's and yours and mine? 
And the Fourth of July, and All-TIallowe'en, 

When the children shout their glee: 
Ah ! never, never more will they seem as of yore, 

But as days half dead to me. 

For the dear little girl with the star-briglit face, 

AVho gave the Christmas its cheer, 
And the loving birthdays their charm and their grace, 

Sleeps low in the forest drear ; 
When the days come again that she used to love. 

And on others brightly glow, 
Oh ! tlie pains they impart to the childless heart, 

None but it can feel and know. 



HER BIRTHDAY^ 

APRIL 4 

My Marjorie ! My Marjorie ! 

Your birthday comes again : 
Come thi-ush and jay with rival song. 
And wood- [lowers sweet, — a timid tlii-ong. 
And dandelions that fleck along 

The field-paths and the lane. 



322 11EMINISCE2^T KHYMES A2nD OTHER VEKSE 

The Spring, its tale of life repeats 
In bursting buds and lambkin's bleats, 
And orchard blooms that waft their sweets 

Thro' casement and thro' door ; 
And once again your playmates come. 
And with their laughter fill the room, 
Where once your own dispelled the gloom — 
But thou, my love — Oh ! cruel doom ! 

Why comest thou no more? 
Why comest all things else but thee. 
My Marjorie? 

I mutter o'er and o'er ; 
My longing eyes think now they see 

Thee coming as of yore, 
From out among the sunny hours, 
Like Spring, herself, bedecked with flowers. 

Bright smiling through the door ; 
Like breezes blent with breath of bowers. 

Light tripping thro' the door. 
But as thus thy image greets my eye. 
Weird winds without go wailing by, 
And sobbing sigh, as slow they die, 

Nevermore ! Nevermore ! 



MEMORIES MEETING 

Like a roseate sea-shell moaning 

For the sea to whicli it belong-; 
Like a wind-swept harp intoning 

A disconsolate spirit's songs; 
Thus in strains as sadly caressing, 

Her accents vibrate thro' me, 
As the harp and shell when expressing 

The souls of the wind and the sea. 

'T is oft but a merry repeating 
Of lier rippling laugh in my ears. 

And oft 't is a gentle entreating 
That 's softly intoned with tear? ; 



THE FATAL DIFFERKNCK 

Thus ever as clearly conies singing 

The voice of my Marjorie, 
As tliro' its heart's chamber keeps ringing 

The sea-shell's song of the sea. 

And oft doih her eyes glow as brightly 

Into the tearful depths of mine, 
As the stars of the summer, nightly. 

Reflected in ocean shine; 
And again with my soul she's blending. 

As purely and perfectly, 
As the blue of the sky, descending. 

Blends with thr blue of the sea. 



323 



GENEROUS NATURE. 

So FULL is this world with good things to eat. 
That life, to the poorest, should be a treat ; 
So bounteous is nature with every taste, 
There 's always abundance going to waste ; 
So generous is she with good things to drink. 
With hopes aspiring and sweet thoughts to think; 
So wasteful with color, perfume and light, 
So varied with visions to charm the sight, 
So plenteous with healthful, life-giving air. 
With flowers to broider each path- way of caio. 
So lavish with laughter, and luscious with love, 
AVith kisses that crowd, their sweetness to prove. 
With fancies and friendships deliciously dear, 
With melodies many to charm the ear. 
So much to delight us, so much that is free, 
*T would seem tliat each, should as happy be. 
As a 'possum up a persimmon tree. 



THE FATAL DIFFERENCE 

My God is true and yours is not ; 

Therefore, your 're not my brother : 
So, what is there for us to do, 

But fight and kill each other? 



20 



324 iiEM12slSCEMT KilYMES A^D OTHEK VKKbE 

OH ! WHAT so SWEET ? 

Oh ! what is so sweet, of all things sweet. 
What one of life's blisses so nearly complete. 
And what among presents so gracious a gift, 
What nearer to Heaven the feelings can lift. 
What ecstasy, rapture, delight, or ideal, 
AVhat transport celestial, either fancied or real. 
Oh ! what other sense sets the brain in a whirl 
Like the thrill of the touch of an amorous girl? 
The passion pure kiss of an innocent girl ? 



THE OLD HOME WELL. 

When you 've been long time away, and have come back home 
at last. 
And kissed the few remaining, and talked some little while. 
You '11 want to stir around a bit, see how things look outside, 

And feel yourself a boy again, throw out your chest and smile; 
You '11 want to see the smoke-house, the woodshed, stables, pens. 

The orchard, the garden-walk, and the old dinner bell; 
And the big Bell-flower apple, that throws its limbs so wide, 
And shades the curb and walk all 'round the old home well. 
Oh ! that old home well ! 
What stories it could tell. 
Of the thirsty boys, who gathered 'round the old home well ; 
And who dashed and splashed each other, 'round the old home 
well; 

Oh, the spell of the bell. 
When on our ears it fell. 
Loudly calling us to dinner, when we gathered round the well, 
An' all grabbed holts an' rastled round the old home well. 

Once again I lower the butter, to keep it sweet and cool. 

And the big watermelons, when August days come 'round, 
Eor the neighbor boys on Sunday — they never missed a day — 

And now the thinkin' o' them makes my lone heart bound; 
Once again from the old bucket I fill the granite cup. 

But sadly gaze into it, as if held by a spell ; 
For I think I see the faces and lips that lined its rim, 

And hear their jokes and laughter round this dear old well. 




Oh, this deep ohl well ! 
"What stories it could tell, 
Of sweethearts at our parties, who 'd steal out here a spell. 
To court within the moonlight, 'round this dear old well. 
Oh ! the charm and the spell 
That lingers 'round the well; 
Could I till the dinner pitcher just for mother once again. 
And set it on the table, from this dear old well. 

825 



THE AWAKENING 327 



THE SUXSET REALM 

I STAN^D on Memory's golden shore : 

I peer across the misty tide, 
And long for those who come no more 

From o'er the waters deep and wide ; 
Who launched upon the mystic sea, 

With Death, their captain, at the lielm ; 
Then waved their last farewell to me. 

And sailed into the Sunset Eealm. 

Upon what seas do now you s.ail ? 

In what bright harbors do you rest ? 
Or dream in what Elysian vale. 

Far, far beyond the golden West? 
And have you signals on your strands. 

And have you pilots in your bay? 
And do 3^ou come with beckoning hands 

To show the wanderer the way ? 

Oh ! if there be such haven brig] it, 

When I embark on Death's dim sea, 
I know what fairy form of light 

Will hasten forth to welcome me; 
I know the radiant pilot bold. 

Who '11 beckon to me from the helm. 
And whose star-face in clustered gold 

Will light me to the Sunset Eealm. 



THE AWAKENIN^G 

If I should die, and my blinded eyes 

Again should opened be, 
And before me dazzling vistas should rise. 
Stretching afar into templed skies — 

Bright abodes of eternity — 
And if, midst the palaced glory, there gleamed 
A throne, bris^hter far than ever T dreamed. 



328 KEMINISCENT KHYMES A2sD OTHEK A'EKSE 

And the mighty God sat majesticall}^ there, 
Surrounded by angels surpassingly fair, 

None of these would first I see ; 
But rather, far rather, I first would trace 
The old earth-love in my darling^s face, — 
The joyous surprise in the welcoming eyes 

Of my own sweet ]\Iarjcrie. 
Tho'' the Love Supreme beam bright from His throne. 
Still there's never a love so near as your own; 
The love of your own mystic being a part — 
The love born of the love in your innermost heart. 



THE UNSEEN HAND 

AVhen downcast, sorely tried, dismayed. 
An unseen hand seems on me laid ; 
At least, a mystic touch I feel, 

A sliadowy presence near, 
A conscious glimpse of something real — 

Of something sweet and dear ; 
A glow, a gleam. 
As in a dream, 

Upon me flashes clear ; 
And oft I 'm led to question much. 
Can this sense be a mother's touch ? 

A love's, lost long ago? 
Or be it just a baby hand — 
(So great its power to command). 

Ah, me ! I do not know. 

But anyhow, it seems to guide 

Me safe o'er sorrow's sweeping tide; 

AYhen down, it seems to lift me up ; 

It dashes from my lips the cup 

Of dark despair; and strange to say, 

From danger^s paths leads me away; 

Oft seems, without my knowing wliy. 

And to my wonderment, 
A safer course I 'm led to tiy, 

Aorainst mv firm intent. 



THE SUPEKIOR hTKO.NU 

Wlien trials, troubles greatest throng, 
And the heart is nigh to breaking. 
It leads me into paths of song, 
Where wild birds are awaking ; 

And joyous, free. 

In minstrelsy, 
The world again grows fair to me ; 

Then faint, but clear, 

I tliink I hear 
These whispered words of hope and cheer — 
"Be brave, be strong, poor troubled heart. 
Still, of some good and use thou art ; 
Speak thou the truths that make men free, 
Nor heed the world's contumely ; 
Thine own approval e'er maintain. 
Though every eye show its disdain ; 
Pursue thine own peculiar way, 
Ne'er will this hand lead thee astray." 

That unseen hand ! I feel it now — 
Its zephyr touch on my hot brow ; 
It may but be the fancied sen?e 
Of heated brain — o'erwrougiit, intense. 

But aye it calms 

Like blessed balms, 
That soothe the soul to indolence; 
And aye it e'er reveals to me 
Far more than book or propliocy, 

Tiio' faint the glim, 

Uncertain, dim — 
Sweet hopes of immortality. 



329 



THE SUPEEIOE STRONa 

'T IS better a strong individual be, 
A character bad, but progressive and free, 
Than be ever so moral and goody-good — 
A seasoned stick of sanctified wood 
And a non-productive non-entity. 



380 KKMIMSCKNT KHYMES AI^D OTHKK VEKSK 



NEAR AND DEAR 

TO MY WIFE 

Still dear thou art, my own sweetheart, 

iVs in days of long ago. 

Dear days of the long ago; 
As near thou art to my heart apart 

As whiteness is to the snow — 

The pure and the stainless snow ; 
As near as the rainbow to the shower, 

Or sun to its mystic glow ; 
Or perfume to the jasmine flower, 

Or roses we used to know, 

In the days of the long ago — 

Dear days of the long ago — 
As the snow to its white, the rainbow its light, 

The rose to its rich perfume, 
Still may we grow near, when we sleep, my dear, 

AVith the snow above our tomb. 



IDEALITY 



The ocean wave we best enjoy 

When bounding on its crest ; 
All lives have upward lifts of hope 

They fain would put to test ; 
To mount on high, to win or die. 

In the attempt to do their best; 
Without the sweet ideal 
There can be no happy real, 

No conflict, progress, rest. 

Each heart 's aiiame with sweet desires, 
Aud on great heights burn bright its fires, 

Inspired by truth and love : 
Forever yearns the dreaming soul 
To reach, by starlit paths, a goal 

Bevand self and above: 



MONEY MAD 'i31 

Our earnest wills to duty lend, 

Our brightest thoughts with beauty blend. 

Where beauty brightest beams : 
To be the being we long to be, 
To see the scenes we sometimes see. 

When fancy ^s lost in dreams ; 
To roam thro' realms, thought pure and free, 
With radiant Ideality, 

Bv Time's eternal streams. 



IF EVERY FOOL GOT HIS DUE 

Just strip human nature of every sham, 

Of every art and disguise, 
And you '11 find, as a rule, there 's more of the fool 

In men, than there is of the wise; 
And more potent is folly oft in the great. 

Who, persistent, hug error's chain. 
And stick to the last to the faith-bound past, 

And its childish delusions maintain. 

In every department of learning and State, 

In the very best of our schools, 
From President down to the clown of the town, 

You '11 find the biggest of fools ; 
Then, gently, my brother, your scorn apply 

To those who seem foolish to you; 
For none would escape a kick in some shape 

If every fool got his due. 



MONEY MAD 

When you 've already more than you ever can spend, 

Why fortune to fortune add ? 
Could your appetites with your money increase, , 
There 'd be some sense in gathering the grease, 

For still it might add to the glad ; 
But to continue to dig, just to be a big pig, 

Is a mark of the money mad. 



332 KEMI.NISCENT RHYMES AJsD OTPIER VEKSE 



ASPIRATION 

The heart would not make for the kite a meal, 

Nor the mouth of the lion fill ; 
Yet the whole wide world hath not the zeal 

To supply its hungering will : 
So much there is of the lovely and good. 

We must hunger for them alway ; 
So much unknown to be understood, 

For the knowing we long and pray. 

No sorrow like tliat of loving the great, 

And trying to reach it and fail : 
But the heart strives on, whate'er its fate, 

Tho' its dying song be a wail : 
Oh, Sweet Aspiration ! that lifts to the skies. 

Thou art always certain of gain; 
For to merely aspire is to realize 

And in some sweet measure obtain. 



ART AND HEART 

"There are days when it is I who paint; in those days tlie 
work is bad. Then there are days when it is not I ; an angel has 
come and worked for me ; then it is good." — Corot. 

TwixT the soul of a man as he is, in fact, 

And the soul he puts in his work. 
Enormous breaches forever expand. 

And pitfalls dangerous lurk; 
Ourselves we partly portray, it is true. 

But seldom reflect we the real. 
For, living alone, in a sphere all its own. 

Reigns the pure, serene ideal ; 
Oft unlike ourselves, as earth to the sky, 
As virtue to vice, as truth to a lie. 

Twixt tlie preacher himself, and th.e word he preaches, 
A distance as wide as the world often reaches; 
Aye, the strains divinest may sweetly roll 
From a petulant, cross, discordant soul; 



PARTING ^vI^Ir the old PIA^'o 

Of his work, the artist is largely a part, 
But often he shrinks by the side of his art ; 
The poet who- charms with his rhythmic spell. 
In fineness of feeling may lack as well ; 
Neither liken to life, nor to men as they are. 

Is the art they exemplify; 
Fair e'er to view, but delusive, untrue, 

A beautiful, beautiful lie; 

Tho' sadly I say it, and e'er with a sigh. 
Yet oft from the heart art dwelleth apart. 

Giving ever the heart the lie. 



aaa 



PARTI^^G AYITH THE OLD PIAXO, 

or 

HOW LAWSOX LOST THE SALE 

Bill Lawson" was a salesman for a big piano store; 

Was sleek of tongue, and handsome, with good humor running 

o'er ; 
He was jes' the kind o' feller as wuz always on the roam; 
And had the knack o' makin' folks, as well's himself, at home; 
Was a fav'rite with the women, and they liked to have him come 
To tune up their pianos and fairly make 'em hum; 
And children, they all liked him, an' neighbors came away. 
And let the pots bile over, jes' to hear Bill Lawson play. 
His sales lay most in changing old pianos for the new. 
And as to tricks o' tradin', he knew more than just a few ; 
He'd sell one at four hundred that wasn't worth but three, 
And take the old at fifty, if on that they could agree. 
Such sales as these were many, and quite often had he seen 
Upon the family faces looks of anguish sad and keen; 
For as they parted with it, every e3^e wuz running o'er. 
And they 'd say, '^'Tt 's like a funeral a-goin' out the door." 
But Bill was good at soothin', and would picture to their eyes. 
How as tender with the new one would surely be their ties ; 
Besides, the old one was worn out, the new one clean and bright, 
And the music so much sweeter, 't would keep 'em up all night ; 
And surely for the children to correctly play and sing. 
They 'd have to have an instrument that had the proper ring. 



334: KEMi:SlSCENT KHYMES A^s'D OTHER VEltSE 

But to the circumstances ^vhich unfold this tearful tale, 

Of how Bill Lawson lost out on a big piano sale; 

'T was back in the beginning of his musical* career, 

"When sentiment with business to him seemed very near; 

A thousand-dollar Steinwa}^ he had sold to farmer Brown, 

Who lived about a mile out from an old Kentucky town; 

Tho' he took the old piano at a hundred twenty- five, 

The commission still would keep him six months or more alive; 

When fixed were all the papers, he was feelin' extra good, 

But soon fell from a business to a sentimental mood ; 

"Once more on the old piano,^^ said he, "for you I '11 play. 

Before the wagon comes along to take it far away f 

And so sat down Bill Lawson, of the big piano store. 

And played that old piano as he never played before. 

Of all the world's sweet music, none so real and so true. 

As that which sets the feet a-timin', and Lawson this could do; 

And the way he could make jo3^ousness take the place of care. 

You 'd think that Slielley's sky-lark was around j^ou in the air ; 

And the way he could make sorrow and old-time feelin's rise. 

You 'd think your heart was creepin' right up into your eyes. 

He started off on rag-time, then to classic melody, 

Then back to the "Suwanee Eiver," and "You'll Eemember 

Me;" 
From "Kindly Light" to "Traumerie" and "Weddin' ^larch" 

he'd roam. 
Then, "Massa 's in the Cold Ground," and "My Old Kentucky 

Home;" 
At last, when he had finished makin' music for their ears. 
He turned around and found ^em all a-sheddin' bitter tears; 
The old woman, on dad's shoulder, was wipin' both her eyes. 
And John Henry, at the window, gazed afar off at the skies. 
And both the girls stood sobbin', lookin' straight at dad and 

mam, — 
While quick it flashed on Lawson — "What a blarsted fool I am I" 
Then spake the elder daughter, with a sob and a boo-hoo, 
"I-I-I think tlie old piano s-s-s-sounds about as good as n-n-new." 
And the younger, she said, "Mamma ! I-I-I can't bear to see it 

go; 
AV-w-w]iat do you sav, Jolni Henry?" And John Henry, he said, 

"X-n-no!" 



PAltTlNGl Mini THE OLD riA^^O ^^35 

And Mother Brown, regaining her composure somewhat, said, 
'Its sweet tones now come to me like the voices of the dead ; 
'T was a present from my father, the last he gave to me, 
And they played it at his funeral, Vay back in sixty-three; 
There's his picture hangin' o'er it, lookin' down into my eyes, 
As if the parting with it filled him with a pained surprise; 
And mother 's right beside him, with a sad, reproachful gaze. 
As if she said, ^Wliy, Jinny ! Could you part with us like-ways?' 
Ah ! how she doted on it ! How she loved to hear me play ! 
And 't was there she spread my dresses before my weddin' day ; 
An' when I had my parties, on its top went all the traps ; 
There the boys 'ould pile their overcoats, an' girls 'ould fling their 

wraps ; 
Alas ! they 're mostly dead and gone — my tears I can not stem ; 
As I lock at the piano, more an 'more I think o' them ; 
I can see 'em all around it, just as once they merry stood, 
WJien w^e had the only instrument in all the neighborhood; 
An' now, since we have kept it all these many, many years, 
It kind o' seems like one o' us :" and she burst again in tears. 
Said Farmer Brown, wlio silently stood gazin' at the floor, 
"We'd better reconsider, since ye 're takin' it so sore; 
It's jes' as you say. Mother, whatever view you hold. 
Do you want the new planner, or do you want the old ?" 
"It 's jes' as you say, Hiram ; I-I-I '11 leave it all to you ; 
While the gentleman was playin', I was thinkin' same as Sue ; 
For it never sounded sweeter, jes' as clear as any bell. 
An' I 'm doubtful if a new one would suit us half as w^ell ; 
If it's not too late a-speakin', I 'd like to have it stay; 
The parlor '11 never seem the same, when it has gone away." 



Then, after a deep silence, spake up Farmer Brown, quite slow, 
"I didn't figger on these things when I let the planner go; 
Wliy, do n't ye remember. Mother, when one we two were mado. 
They played that same weddin' march that Lawson jes' noM- 

played ? 
How we spent full half our evenin's afore you were my bride. 
With you a-fingerin' them keys, while I stood by 3^our side; 
And as often as I stood there, a-turnin' o' the leaves, 
We'd sing together, "Nearer Home," and "Geth'rin' in the 

Sheaves;" 



Ot^6 KEMINISCE^'T KllYMES AND OTHKK VKKSE 

An' "The Letter in the Candle/' ^l^orena/' and the rest 

0' them old-fashioned pieces, that somehow seem the best ; 

Oft I 've wondered why, with lovers, when life 's so free an' glad, 

The music that most stirs the heart has touches o' the sad ; 

I never could account for 't — s'pose it 's one o' their queer whims ; 

AVhen they're thinkin' least o' Heaven, they sing the saddest 

hymns. 
Then I *d slip my arms around you, fearin' you would n't like 

it much. 
An' I'd feel you cuddlin' towards me, an' tinglin' at my touch; 
An' I 'd venture then to kiss you, and lay my cheek to thine, 
AYhile your heart 'ould leap in blushes to greet the thrill o' mine ; 
Yes, late I 'd stay them courtin' nights, when we were lovin' so. 
An' you 'd have to play me one more tune, before I 'd say I 'd go ; 
Since then there 's many years gone by, an' thro' their mist an' 

gloam, 
I kin hear ye still a-playin', "My Old Kentucky Home," 
An' I ain't forgot our Baby Bess, our first-born angel child, — 
When she lieerd that old planner, why, she seemed to go jes' wild ; 
I remember how you 'd hold her upon your lovin' knees, — 
Why — still I see her chubby hands a-thumpin' on them keys; 
So, I 'm sorry, Mr. Lawson, tho' the sale 's been made, 't is true, 
We '11 keep tlie old pianner, if it 's all the same to you." 

Then plain upon each countenance an anxious look there came, 

But it wasn't, by Three Hundred, to Lawson "All the same;" 

His playing of those old tunes had roused in Farmer Brown 

A multitude of memories that would be hard to do^vn ; 

So, soothingly and cautiously, he sympatliized with all, 

And said — "The same fond feeling in my own life I recall; 

But, laying aside all sentiment, the purpose of the trade 

Was to educate your daughters with tlie very best of aid ; 

And they ne'er can be proficient, for without a shade of doubt. 

The instrament has seen its day, and is certainly worn out." 

"But," said Brown, "the way yoii play it, it sounds as good as 

new, 
An' with a little tinl-erin, it 'pears to me, 'twill do." 

Then to the contract Lawson inforcntially referred, 

(Xot doubting tliat his signature was good as was his word), 



THE CALL TO LABOR 



337 



And boldly said — "The papers I will willingly return, 
But to go back on a contract, I am sure ^at you would spurn ;" 
Thus appealing to Brown's honor, it certainly was tough, 
When he offered up the papers, the old man called his bluff, 
And said, as he accepted them, "You 've done a noble part ; 
You 're a gentleman o' principle, as well as one o' heart ; 
Sure we want the old planner put in the best o' tune, 
An' we 'd like you 'd stay for dinner, as its gettin' 'long 'l)ont 

noon; 
An' any time 3^ou happen to be passin' 'long this way, 
We '11 all be glad to see you, as well 's to hear you pla}^ 
'Specially them old tunes— that "AYeddin' March" an' "Trau- 

merie," 
An' then "My Old Kentucky Home," an' "You'll Remember 

Me." 

Oh, yes ! thought Lawson, sadly, I '11 forever think o' you, 
x\nd how I made that old "planner" sound just as good as new. 

As I have said, this circumstance, which cost my friend so dear, 

Took place in the beginning of his musical career; 

But from that on he adopted an entirely different course; 

Twixt sentiment and business there was absolute divorce; 

And when he closed a contract, he was never known to stay 

And on the old "planner" show how well that he could play; 

It's equal to a circus, now, to hear him tell the tale. 

How for six months he worked up and how he lost that sale ; 

He was short about "Three Hundred," but in that way, never 

more, 
Did they ever catch Bill Lawson, of the Big Piano Store. 



THE CALL TO LABOR 

Do n't w^orry at the indolence and ease of your rich neighbor ; 
The poverty and pains of life are but the calls to labor; 
Therein all health and purpose lie, and every primal blessing; 
It gives the muscles exercise, and keeps the mind a guessing; 
To thought and wisdom it compels, and stimulates ambition; 
In honest toil, then, have a pride, no matter 3^our position. 



338 re:mi^iscent khymes axd othek vekse 



FEATHERED FAITH 

Ik front of me, quite reverently, 

In church she solemn sat; 
And much she thought of faith, as taught. 

But more of her new hat; 
And much she thought of human doom. 

Of hopeless., endless hell ; 
But more she thought of her gay plume. 

And eyes that on it fell. 

A beauteous bird, with wings outspread. 

Adorned the other side; 
Its colors gay made a displa}^ 

Outrivalled all beside; 
As sweetly rang the song she sang, 

In mellow, mournful strain. 
It seemed I heard that beauteous bird 

In its wild haunts again. 

Mid bowered branches, huddled lay 

Her fledglings in their nest; 
And all day long her sylvan song 

Lulled them to gentle rest; 
Her joyous notes caused rival throats. 

Thro' all the green-leaved wood. 
To loudly raise a choral praise 

To sacred motherhood. 

Alack ! Alack ! that fatal day ! 

A hunter, passing b}^. 
On murdei' bent, his bullet sent. 

And hushed that lullaby ; 
The forest aisles grew sudden still. 

Each warbler held its breath; 
For well they knew, by instinct true. 

Some friend had met her death. 

The boisterous breezes in the boughs 

To tearful whispers grew ; 
Thro' wood and dale they told the tale 

To all the flowers thev knew : 



LOVES LIMIT 

The joyous earth lost all its mirth. 
Each wild-flower hung its head; 

The mournful throng all felt the wrong, — 
The sweet Song-Thrush was dead. 

Ah ! strange the change, and sad as strange. 

That such a being fair. 
Should have to die, to beautify 

A head bowed low in prayer; 
My troubled mind no peace could fmd, 

No happiness, no rest; 
Her orphaned brood in the lonely wood 

I saw dead in their nest. 



339 



LOVERS LIMIT 

So MUCH the mind to fancied fact. 

So much to dream is given. 
We think the love that binds us here 

Was pre-arranged in Heaven ; 
So much by love we 're hypnotized, 

When once we pass its portal. 
Each dreams his own, of all the world. 

Undying and immortal. 

She threw her arms around his neck. 
And gazed into his eyes.. 

And to his eager questionings, 
Thus made she sweet replies — 

"Oh, yes ! I '11 love thee unto death ! 
Another love? 0, never! 

I '11 love thee, dear, till life's last day- 
Forever, dear, forever !" 

Ah ! what on earth so sweet as love ? 

We could not live without it ; 
But why not, as of other things, 

The whole truth tell about it ? 



340 KEMI2^'1SCENT KHYMES AND OTHEK VEKSE 

He died, when they had married been, 
But three short years — alack ! 

And true she was, ahnost as long 
As she wore solid black. 

A fleeting year had hardly passed, 

(0 strange the fates that sever), 
Wlien vows again she made, to love 

"Forever and forever;^' 
Unmindful that she still displayed 

The weeds of her distress: 
And with a kiss she sealed the bliss 

Of a perfect happiness. 

But after all, strange as it seems. 

It's just as things should be; 
Or else this world would soon become 

One great, vast cemetery; 
A colossal waste of buried hopes. 

Mid a desert of despair — 
^T is only love — continuous love: — 

Can lessen grief and care. 

Thus Nature makes us to forget ; 

Thus, imperiously, compels 
The human to repeat himself 
Through love's enticing spells. 
Ah, love ! w^hat else in all this world 

So true, so false, so free? 
Above all other things in life, 

It 's one necessity. 

Blind from its birth unto its end. 

Love loves but by degrees; 
And truer far to life than death. 

Seeks new affinities; 
Thus are we forced to recognize 

The nature in us bred ; 
While love 's alive, it 's much alive, 

AVhen dead, it's good and dead. 



TiiE END OF LOVE S DKEAil 



341 



THE EXD OF LOVE'S DEEAM 

An ! never again will the roses blow. 
For us, as the roses we used to know ; 
Never again will the summer skies hold 
Such sunset silver and dawning gold; 
Ah ! never again ; for the dream is done 
That a word, a look, and a touch begun. 

Tho' for us, now be left but the memory 

In the coming days of what could not.be; 

Tho' near me, yet still thou wilt be as far 

As the round earth is from the farthest star ; 

Tho' I can not be yours, nor you be mine, 

Still I feel I 've been touched with something divine ; 

Tho' wrecked our mad loves, that once were so sweet. 

Yet, without them, each life were incomplete. 

No, I would not forget it, e'en if I could, 
For, never a lover but for some sweet good ; 
Aye, the more of love to the world we add. 
The more it increases the sum of the glad. 
Better love many than that one be loved. 
If never a consummation be proved; 
Better a tliousand wrecked loves recall. 
And griefs, than never to have loved at all; 
Better, far better, to nourish and teach 
The sweet ideals we never may reach; 
Tho' hope be blighted, and many times killed, 
Yet sweeter each life, e'en for loves unfulfilled ; 
Aye, brighter its skies in the sunset years, 
E'en for the lost loves, that now waken tears. 
Then, kiss me and smile in my eyes once more, 
Tho' your lips should quiver, and lids run o'er ; 
Grow close to my heart in a burning embrace. 
Let the old love-light sweep over your face ; 
Let me feel once again your cheek's hot flush, 
And beat of your heart, in its mad, glad rush ; 
Place your hand in mine, for one moment, one, 
And forever good-bye^ — for the dream is done. 
21 



342 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



THE DESPOTISM OF THE DEAD 

The fears and hates of ages dim and grey- 
All present thought and progress permeate. 
Poor man ! still stunted by o'erbearing might. 
And fed upon the spoon-meat of belief. 
Low worships at the shrines of priestly power, 
Adores the king who makes of him his slave, — 
His pla^ihing in the wild, mad game of war, — 
And yields, without return, to both liis life. 

The rubbish of the Past, of myth composed. 
Of miracle, reverence, and right divine. 
Of form and worship, pageantry and pomp. 
Of sword and scepter, and of cross and crown. 
Still blindly swa3^s the governments of men; 
The things that parents hate, their children hate. 
And so, blind prejudice divides the world. 
Men for their countr}^ shout, tho' it be right. 
Or meanly wrong ; for boss and party stand, 
And sing their praise, tho' rotten to the core; 
Stiff churchmen, stupid-eyed, and parrot-like, 
Eepeat whate'er their solemn pastors say, 
Whose inspirations come from those long dead. 

Strange these should still take precedence o'er all 
The Present's wealth of golden thouglit. But streams 
That sluggish flow have at their bottoms, mud ; 
Thus sacred mold and royal rust still cling 
To grovelling man. Incompetent they. 
Whose minds e'er grope in bondage of the Past, 
To straight direct men in the way of life. 
Forever onward is fierce Nature's stride; 
Tho' slow her pace, and faint she drags along 
Tradition's chains and custom's clogs, and all 
The myths and superstitions of the world ; 
Yet, one by one, her weary weights she drops 
Along her rough, but upward, shining way. 
And so, unburdened, with a lighter heart. 
She canters forward with her lessened load. 



LIFE EVERLASTING 343 

Evolves the human mind, just as it finds 

Teachers, whose only guides are truth and fact; 

Who focus faith upon the here and now ; 

Who know that brotherhood, as right applied. 

Includes all nations, creeds, and kinds of men ; 

Whose hospitalities of heart and head 

Have freed them from the Despotisms of the Dead. 



LIFE EYEELASTIXG 

When" we have passed life's troubled shore 
We 're told that we shall "die no more,'' 
Not I to brazenly presume 
To voice the human end or doom. 

Or the Supreme intent; 
But oftentimes, it seems to me. 
Eternal life would surely be 

Eternal punishment. 
To live ten times ten million years. 

And billions yet untold. 
And still decillions yet to come — 

Well — that's a getting old; 
So old, it seems a zeph3'r's kiss 

Would blow me clear away ; 
At least, I feel in heart affairs 

No longer I 'd be gay. 

One wild, mad day of love and mirth 
Upon this warm, pulsating earth. 

To me, I 'm sure would be 
Worth ten times more than the tail end 

Of all eternity. 
Who 'd ne'er again to youth return ? 
Who 'd ne'er again with passion burn 

And the old joys of the heart? 
AVho 'd live right on, and ne'er come back 
Along the old love-beaten track. 

And make another start? 
Who 'd want forever to be bound. 
To move straight on and never round ? 



344: REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

AVho M thus be mummified by age 

In some "Sweet Bye and Bye?'' 
"With weazened Time alone to sup, 
To next-to-nothing shrivel up. 

And still no chance to die ? 
Why should I care, in this sweet life. 

What in the end I'll be? 
For I 'm sure I would n't know myself 

If I myself should see; 
And surely memory 'ould disappear 
By the sixty-fifth decillionth year. 

Oh, happy thought ! Oh, happy hope ! 

To all life-wearied men. 
That back on some bright earth like thi= 

We '11 youth renew again ; 
But thought appalling 't is to me 
To e'er grow old eternally; 
AYhen every aeon that we spend 
Marks the beginning of no end ; 
Tar, far beyond swift fancy's flight. 
In viewless voids to vanish quite. 
Where time is lost in one black night. 



THE CLEEICAL JOB 

Poor fellows! What a job have they. 

Defending heaven and hell; 
E'er proclaiming men need worship 

Far more than living well; 
That gods of wrath, who dail}^ damn. 
Are also gods of love and calm. 

According to their ^pell ; 
Tliat reason, less than faith and fear. 
And ghosts should be our guidance here; 
Who, laws of conscience forge for men, 

And chains of dogma make, 
AYhich the laws of self-protection 

Compel free men to break. 
Ah ! me, I would n't have that job 

For ten dear Saviors' sake. 



RESISTLESS REASON 34:5 



RESISTLESS REASON 

What reforms were e'er projected. 

What abuses swept away, 
But as great souls, free and fearless, 
Brave, undaunted, pure, and peerless, 

Came right out and said their say ? 
What truths were e'er set forward. 

What human freedom gained, 
But as lordliness and bigotry 

Were sorely grieved and pained ? 
Who would his brother's keeper be. 
Who 'd keep him praying on his knee, 
No wish can have to see him free — 

No love has for the masses ; 
Who, more of feeling have, than sense. 
Must always stupid be and dense, 

A bunch of balking asses ; 
That kick at folks who 're on the go. 
Because themselves poke on as slow 

As cold Orleans molasses. 



The car of progress ne'er holds back , 
Because pig-heads get on the track — 
She piles them all right in a stack. 

Indifferent to their squealing ; 
Nor does she slow up in a trice 
When every bristling bull or fice 

Runs out to stop her wheeling ; 
'T is Reason's rough, resistless wa}'-, 
Just speeding on from day to day, 
Thro' earnest men who lead and sway— 

Her precious truths revealing ; 
This rushing world ain't going to stop 
Because it yearly yields a crop 

Of folks who think a kneeling; 
Nor into chaos bump ker-flop, 
Because most men, clear to the top. 

Are filled with foolish feeling. 



ti4G REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

EVOLUTION 

^Neath Eeason's high exalted arch. 
That spans this life of faith and fears, 

Beliold triumphant Natnre^s march 
Throngli the unknown million 3'ears. 

Upward, onward, e'er progressing. 

Cells to worlds her wa3's expressing ; 

Worlds to systems spinning bright, 

Beyond swift fancy's farthest flight; 

From atom np thro' change and strife. 

She molds and fashions human life. 

From smallest microscopic form, 

To sluggish, slow, instinctive worm ; 

Then on from low to higher plan. 

Through fish and frog to thought-domed man. 

From sightless shapes that wing the air, 

And busy ply their insect care, 

And myriad mites that creep the ground, 

The silence breaks to faintest sound ; 

Then squeak and chirp course swift along. 

To savage growl and soulful song. 

From leer of wolf and jackal's gape. 

And grin of dog and chattering ape. 

Is wrought the wanton witching wiles 

That light svr eet woman's face with smiles ; 

From larvae that promiscuous breed. 

And habitation have no need, 

To hive of bee and nest of dove. 

And templed home of human love; 

Thus upward, onward, day by day. 

Is ever Nature's glorious way. 

All lower forms employed, combined 

In perfecting the master mind. 

Who, then, would first be perfect made, 
To sin and fall, sink and degrade? 
Who 'd not prefer to slow evolve 
From low instinct to high resolve? 



THE ETERNITY OF MATTER 

Who *d spurn the worm, thro' which he rose, 
To head borne high and mind to choose ? 
In whose poor instinct Xature wrought 
The first triumphant -otep toward thought ? 
Who 'd spurn the field-mouse, bee, and dove. 
That linked the home-ties first with love ? 
Who 'd spurn the ape, who played his part 
In development of mind and heart ? 
Who, in defense of child and wife, 
Gave all that man could give — his life ? 

Who 'd spurn the worm from which he grew. 
Would spurn his rude ancestors, too ; 
Would spurn the oMim and the sperm. 
From which evolved his own poor germ. 
Each but a link in a cable vast, 
The first essential as the last; 
Thus ever on is Xature's march, 
^Xeath Reason's high exalted arch; 
From low to high, not high to low. 
The bright processions come and go. 

Can Super-nature offer aught 

So marvelous, to trust? 
So worshipful? with wisdom fraught? 

So loving, kind, and just? 



34 



THE ETERNITY OF MATTER 

No MOTE there is of matter, 

However viewless, strange. 
Can be annihilated, — 

It only suffers change ; 
No heat can e'er destroy it. 

From life it can't escape ; 
The forces but resolve it 

Into some other shape. 



348 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

There never was creation, 

Because there ne'er was void ; 
That always has existed 

AVhich can not be destroyed ; 
There never was Creator, 

For naught itself creates ; 
All life from chemic action 

Into being emanates. 

There never was beginning, 

There ne'er can be an end ; 
From form to form in circle 

Is life's eternal trend; 
And so. whatever Power there be 

Rules countless worlds and suns. 
Is neither He, nor neither She, 

But thro' all matter runs. 



KIND^^ESS 



'T is kindness gives birth to kindness, 

And hate gives birth to hate ; 
And 't is only in our blindness. 

That love and temper mate; 
E'er with kindness dwelleth mercy. 

And gentleness so sweet 
That dryeth the tear, and giveth cheer, 

To the sorrowing ones we meet. 

'T is by sowing the seeds of beaut}^ 

Briglit remembrances will grow; 
And 't is life's divinest duty, 

Not to give another woe; 
When tlie heart o-er-flows with pit}^. 

It can find no room for sin ; 
We open our eyes in Paradise, 

When we let sweet kindness in. 



THE PRESENT TREND 



349 



THE PRESENT TREXD 

Most certain is this of all that we know. 

Life is here, life is here ; 
A strange commingling of joy and of woe. 

Smile and tear, smile and tear; 
And whether we live life over again. 
We can never know, but this much we ken, 
Tho' we can not help gods, we can help men. 

And the time to help them is now; 

To the Present then let us bow ; 
Of itself the Future will take good care, 
'T will be as 't will be, regardless of prayer. 
And around us is misery everywhere 

That calls for our sympathies now; 

Then let each make a solemn vow. 
To place the smile in the place of the tear. 
And of the unknown Future have no fear, — 
Of that have no fear, but of this have fear : 
Xot to live for the life that now is near, 
Xot to make Heaven of the life that is here. 

The future may prove an Elysium of peace. 

Pain is here — pain is here; 
And as fast our joys, our sorrows increase. 

Smile and tear — smile and tear. 
Justice is tardy and comes by degree?, 
"While Truth in the world creeps low on her knees. 
Assailed by ignorance, hate, and disease. 
But the time to hail her is now ; 

To the Present then let us bow. 
For while we^re idling, hearts hunger and bleed. 
And millions crushed low by the crime of greed. 
Are calling for men of mercy and deed, 

And their tears appeal to us now; 

Then let each make a solemn vow. 

To place the smile in the place of the tear, 
And of the unknown future have no fear, — 
Of that have no fear, but of this have fear : 
Xot to live for the life that now is near, 
Xot to make Heaven of the life that is here. 



350 EEMl.NISCENT RHYMES A:ND OTHER VEKSE 



MENTAL MEEKNESS 



All knowledge that we may acquire- 

Exact and definite — 
Unceasing, earnest toil involves. 

And honest, keen insight; 
But almost universally 

Great indolence we show ; 
We travel till a little tired. 

And then no farther go. 

And when the limit we have reached 

Of willingness to learn. 
To other's guidance — fools perhaps— 

Or tricky tradesmen turn ; 
Thus lacking courage, most of men. 

To ancient fables cling ; 
And so unfortified, accept, 

Each day, some foolish thing. 



THE GEEATEST TEUST 

In all the works of human kind, 

From largest to the least. 
No corporation great you '11 find. 
No trust — nor all the trusts combined. 
So strong as that of *'Faith and Mind," 

As pooled by king and priest ; 
By which the toilers, poor, they blind. 

And on their life-blood feast. 

With superstition's gilded chains 
They, baby bodies bind, and brains; 
Thus, of the soul and conscience free. 
Of childhood, make monopoly; 
The child obtained, they get the man, 
And work him hard for all they can ; 
Of governments, they playthings make 
For selves, and not for human sake. 



THE MAN-CHILD 

Thus leading men to reverence them. 

Thro' fear and force and tact, 
Thro' them, the poor with God mn?t deal, 

(The least one in the pact), 
And blindly at their feet men kneel, 
And think to God they worship give, 

When they worship them, in fact ; 
Twixt King and Priest and Partner^ — God, 

What chance have men to act? 



THE MAN-CHILD 

Observe how men, in crowded streets. 

Pick cautiously their way; 
Close heeding every flying car. 

And every truck and dray; 
How rational their every step ; 

Their reason keen, alert; 
Each quick his individual rights 

To challenge and assert. 
Observe, as well, in ways of trade. 

How cautious they consider ; 
How close they question, weigh, and doubt. 

Each seller, buyer, bidder. 

But see them on faith's thoroughfare. 

And blind belief's exchange; 
Could any mental attitude 

More subservient be, and strange? 
To dangers which beset the path 

Of truth, they close the eye; 
The same keen reasoning in trade, 

No longer they apply ; 
No wonder, then, the world by creeds 

Has ever been beguiled ; 
When each, in trade, would be a man. 

In faith — would be a child. 



352 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VEKSE 

A EOOM FOR TWO, 
or 

THE POORHOUSE DIVORCE OF JOHN AND TILDA ANDERSON" 

Note. — This story is based upon the history and fate of an 
aged, worthy conple, whom the author attended for several years. 
The Cincinnati poorhouse, to which tliey were compelled to go, 
provides no special rooms for married people, the sexes being 
completely separated. To an aged, loving, and refined couple, 
grown childish in their regard for each other, no punishment 
could be greater. This deplorable situation has met with public 
remonstrance on several occasions, through the press, but still 
exists. 

JOHN 

Well, Tilda, here's the wagon, come to take us both away; 
I s'pose it '& for the best, dear, but I hate to go to-day ; 
I hate to leave the tenement and familiar scenes around, 
And our poor, but kindly, neighbors, to whom our hearts are 

bound ; 
Who 've shared their meager victuals many and many a time, 
And watched us in our illness, and oft given their last dime; 
Our very lives are linked with theirs, an' 't is hard to say, good- 
bye. 
And go where no one cares for us, when, at last, we have to die. 
I hate to leave the river and the docks down by its side, 
And see no more the packets, as they plow its murky tide; 
See them in the morning steamin' up an' out o' sight. 
And come blazin' down the river in the silent hours of nigh.t; 
Xo more to see 'em speedin' with majestic sweep and dash, 
Xor hear the steam-pipes puffin', and the side-wheels' drippin' 

plash ; 
Xor the deep-toned mellow whistle wake the echoes in the hills, — 
There 's no other music like it — how my very soul it thrills ! 
How the river ever 'minds me of the far-off days of yore, 
Of our fathers' farms adjoining, 'way up its verdant shore ; 
How we courted in the moonlight, and watched the boats steam 

by, 

And planned our weddin' voyage — there ! Tilda, dear, do n't cry ! 



A KOOM FOK TWO 



353 



For since we have to leave the scenes, so very dear to me, 

I can't help talkin' 'bout 'em, tliough it brings us misery. 

x4h, the river ! the river ! how it 's charmed with sweet romance ; 

How in youth we walked beside it, — our souls blent in a trance ; 

For fifty years we've traveled o'er many a rough highway. 

And the old associations grow dearer day by day; 

It 's only just a little while we both will have to live, 

But if a fortune all were mine, the whole of it I 'd give 

To stay right here among the scenes I daily love to view. 

An' chore around when able, an' bring the pittance home to you. 

Than go out to the poor-house, behind the city's noise, 

And bury deep from sight and sound our few remaining joys. 

Say, overseer, you need n't wait, I 'm not ready now to start ; 
John Bowman's groc'ry boy '11 take us, next Sunday, in his cart ; 
I 've already fixed it with him, and I 've some pride about 
Bein' taken from my old home in the city's black turn-out ; 
So, Tilda, let's get ready now, 'ithout more to do or fuss. 
And divide what we 've no use for with them that 's good to us ; 
You take the things 'at you want, and I '11 sort the things I need, 
My favorite books '11 have to go, — I forget time when I read ; 
Jes' choose the things that 's dear to both, I '11 pack 'em good 

and strong; 
They '11 reconcile us somewhat, when the hours are sad and long. 

TILDA 

I long have thought it best, dear John, but never spake from fear, 

Seein' that your lovin' heart was so set on stayin' here; 

It 's oft I 've gi-ieved to see you totter thro' the cold an' rain, 

Huntin' little jobs o' work, an' 'en returnin' home again. 

Heartsick an' empty-handed, and I 've thought 't would better be 

If we 'd give up tryin' longer, and endurin' poverty ; 

I know the thought o' poor-house is the same as death to you. 

That it stings your independence — your pride an' manhood, too ; 

But do n't look at it that way, for we 've surely more 'n paid 

All the County '11 ever give us., from now until we 're laid 

To our long rest forever; and it ain't acceptin' alms. 

When we gave our all to countiy — they sleep 'neath Southern 

palms ; — 
That 's the way 'at I look at it, consider in' we gave 
Our boys to die in battle — our boys so good and brave — 



I 



354 KEMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

If they were here we would n't have to go out there to die, 
But we 'd have the best o' everything — John, dear, do n't you 

cry; 
AVe'll tell the superintendent this, an' then he'll surely know 
AVe 're both honest and deservin', and certainly he '11 show 
Us special, good attention, and '11 give us the best room 
That 's now at his disposal; and, jes' like a bride an' groom, 
AVe '11 begin our sad lives over, and make the best of all. 
And accept the situation, whatever may befall. 

I '11 help you pack your books, John, since first they 're in your 

thought — 
Here 's your "David Harum," the very last one that you bought ; 
And here 's your Burns and Byron, an' some other poet folks. 
And Twain an' Ward, an' others that 's always tellin' jokes ; 
And here 's your pile o' old-time papers, Pickwick and Bigelow, 
Which you 've preserved since they came out, some fifty years ago. 
You were always sentimental, a great deal more 'n me. 
And I know your books '11 often prove a precious company ; 
And here 's the f am'ly pictures, without which we 'd both be lo-st ; 
Sure, we would n't part with them, John, at any price or cost. 
Specially of our soldier boys, dressed in their army blue — 
We '11 hang one on each side o' us, and sleep between the two ; 
And we'll take the clock and mirror, and each an easy chair. 
Because they 're old attachments, and we '11 likely need 'em there ; 
We want some things to 'mind us o' the old home and the days 
When we were independent and proud in our plain ways ; 
And we '11 take the last rag-carpet I made some years ago, 
I never used it here because the soot 's so bad, you know ; 
And the pillows an' the bolsters on which we 've lain our heads, 
Tho' they 're supposed to furnish all that 's needed for the beds ; 
It 's many a sad time, John, since our boys fell in the fight, 
Our heads have pressed those pillows, an' we 've cried far in the 

night; 
In the trunk we '11 place our clothing, and precious things beside, 
The baby dresses of our boys, and little Nell's, who died 
'Way up on the farm, John ; yes — I 'm glad I kept 'em all : 
They '11 give us much to think of, and memories sweet recall ; 
And when we get the pictures hung, and carpet on the floor, 
And everything made home-like, we'll be pleased a good deal 

more 



A ROOM FOR TWO 



355 



Than now we even dream of ; so, cheer up, dear old John, 
I 'm sure we ^11 have such comforts as we \'e seldom looked upon ; 
No more you '11 have to shovel coal, nor dread the comin' day. 
When the landlord makes his circuit, an' the rent you have to 

pay; 

And for old associations, you '11 cling to them, I know. 
But you '11 always find good company wherever you may go ; 
And I 'm sure you '11 get permission, every now and then, 
To come down to the city, and you '11 see the boats again ; 
And talk and eat with old friends, an' stay with them all night. 
And see the morning sunbeams streak the river with their light. 

And now I have a secret, John, I long have kept from you, 
'T will make our burdens easier, and lessen 'em a few ; 
From out our scanty earnin's, thro' man}'- and many a year, 
I 've saved enough to bury us ; so we need n't longer fear 
0' bein' put away as paupers, which to both has been a dread ; 
We '11 give it to our doctor, who has promised, when we 're dead. 
To send us up the river to that green and pleasant shore. 
Where we wandered in tlie moonliglit in lovin' days of yore. 
And planned our weddin' voyage, as we watched the boats steam 

by,- 
(Don't choke up that way, John, dear, or I, too, will have to 

cry.) 
I wish the same bright packet on which we floated down, 
Might take us back together — the same old "Silver Crown ;" 
But she has dropped from mem'rv, like many a bridal pair. 
That gaily danced upon her decks, in the balmy ev'ning air; 
So, take it all in all, dear John, we ought to be content ; 
Xo longer will we scrimp and starve, nor fret about the rent ; 
AVe won't have independence, but we '11 both have ease and rest. 
And in the end be buried 'mong the friends we loved the best; 
We '11 have a room all to ourselves — we '11 deck it briglit and fair : 
And all the world's sad changes can't separate us there. 

THE JOUllNEY 

Winding up the thronged valley, and leading out thereto, 
Stretches grand and stately a broad and shady avenue ; 
The street-cars dash along it — tandem, cab, and tally-ho. 
And wheelmen to the city scorch, or to the country go. 



356 KEMINISCE^'T KHVMKS Al^D OTUEK YEESE 

Upon a Sunday ev'ning, midst the gay and rushing throng, 
A little grcceiy wagon, unnoticed, moved along; 
Within sat an aged couple, behind its close-drawn blinds, 
With a few old household treasures, dear to their childish minds ; 
They M said good-bye to old friends, with many a promise given. 
To come and see them when they could, or meet them up in 

heaven ; 
Their hands were joined in loving clasp, their heads together lay, 
AVhile the grocery bey informed them of scenes along tlie way; 
Of tlie mansions on the hilltops, that tower in stately pride. 
Above the lowly tenements doAvn by the Avater side ; 
Of the factories and gardens, tlie parks and many trains. 
The corn tliat ^s just in tassel, and the hay that 's in the wains ; 
And the green and peaceful grave-yard, so dreamy-like and fair. 
That one could almost wish to die, just to be buried there; 
But silent sat they, heedless of the well-meant, kindly speech, 
Lost, dazed, and stricken, beyond even pity's loving reach ; 
Stricken sore with heart-wounds, that no surgeon's art could heal, 
AVith that deep humiliation, honest poor folks only feel; 
And a loneliness unutterable came upon them more and more, 
As each minute they drew nearer the county poor-house door. 

THE RECEPTION 

''Step right in this wa}^ sir," the superintendent said ; 

**^And, driver, take that tnimpery 'round and dump it in the shed ; 

The clerk will take your names and age, and other records trace, 

Then the matron will direct you, each to his proper place; 

Our rules will not permit you to consort together here, 

Xor sit at the same table, nor in any vray appear 

As married individuals; from this you will refrain; 

Each sex has its department, and must separate remain ; 

A public room is set apart, to which 3'ou may repair. 

At times prescribed within the rules, and meet each other there." 

Stunned, amazed, bewildered, they stood, as half inclined to flee, 
AVliile the look upon their faces would break your heart to see; 
A look of pleading protest, glowing soft thro' blinding tears, 
licflecting all the joy and pain of fifty loving years; 
Then, John Anderson replying, spake fervently and slow, 
''It's not worth while protestin', for we've nowhere now to go; 



A KOOM FOR TWO 357 

We'd have stayed and starved it out^ had we known of such a 

course ; 
AYhy, superintendent, this — this is practical divorce. 
They talk of laws more stringent for mismated misery, 
Tlien why should those be forced apart, who lovingly agree ? 
Should penury annul the ties that fondly made us one. 
And separate us now when life — when life is nearly done? 
The married poor folks who come here, I 'm told, are very few. 
And it can't be askin' over-much — a room for just us two. 
Tho' poor, we've both been honest, sir, and served our country 

well : 
On Chickamauga's bloody field our boys in battle fell; 
The state could not repay us if it rained its gold in showers, 
And the comforts they 'd a given us, we feel should now be ours." 

SEPARATION" 

In the sick ward of the poor-house, for many and many a day, 

An aged man lay pining his last hours of life away; 

He'd bravely borne all sorrows, full many a grief and care. 

But the pang of separation was more than he could bear ; 

Childish growm, and sentimental, with many a heaving sigli. 

He lived again in reverie the loving days gone by ; 

And, w^and'ring strayed from this to that, and in delirium 

dreamed. 
And talked aloud of incidents which true and real seemed ; 
And back again to the old farm his wand'ring fancies roam, — 
"Mother ! Put the dinner on ! for the boys are comin' home ; 
Do n't you hear the drums a-beatin' ? Can't you see 'em down 

the pike? 
Who 's that wavin' that old banner ? Why, bless my soul, it 's 

Ike! 
And Joe is right beside him, w^ith his cap high on his gun : 
Hurrah ! for our boys. Mother, who helped to make their country 

one! 
But Tilda, I — I — do n't see you ; where are 3'OU, dear, to-night ? 
I thought I saw the boys a-comin' homeward from the fight; 
And we were at the old home, in the happy days o' yore, 
'Way up in Adams County, close along the river shore ; 
I must ha' been a dreamin' — it seemed so real and plain, 
I wish it had a been the boys comin' marchin' home again; 
22 



35vS REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VEKSE 

It 's a long, long time, dear Tilda, since we watched 'em march 

away. 
An' I 've had a strange presentiment, they 're comin' home to- 
day. 
Sit right close by me, Tilda, for I want to hold your hand, 
With that pledge o' love still on it — that well-worn golden band. 
As dear to me, and dearer, than when first I placed it there. 
And kissed you in the moonlight, you well remember where; 
Come, Tilda, lay your face to mine, for all seems growin' dark ; 
I see again the river and a strange approachin' bark ; 
I hear the rock and splash of oars — the darkness grows more deep, 
Cling closer to my yearnin' heart — I long for rest — and — sleep." 

When the glowing morning sunbeams streaked hill and vale w^th 

light. 
The pauper's proud, poetic soul had ta'en its endless flight; 
And in a ward, not distant far, a feeble woman woke, 
And, keenly apprehensive, to a passing nurse she spoke : 
"Jes' wait a moment, darlin', an' do n't move so swift away ; 
What 's the news o' the mornin', and how 's my dear John to-day ? 
All night he seemed to call me, and to wish to hold my hand. 
That 's the way he always wanted to go to the Better Land ; 
An' that's the way I want to go, thro' the valley dark and dim, 
An' I think I 'd like to go to-day, but I 'm waitin' jes' for him ; 
I want to sit again beside him, an' fix his toast an' tea, 
An' look into his lovin' eyes, an' keep him company ; 
He 's lonely in the night-time, and grieves for me, I ween, 
But wider than the ocean seems the few short steps between; 
I do n't mean to be complainin', so tell me, nurse, I pray. 
What 's the news o' the mornin', and how 's my dear John to-day ? 
Do n't be afraid to tell me, — it will be no great surprise ; 
Ah ! I read it in your silence, an' see it in your eyes ; 
He 's gone ! An' that 's why all the night long he sought to hold 

my hand ; 
Soon I '11 join him where he 's waiting, down by the river strand ; 
He would n't leave me very far — he 's lingerin' there, I know. 
An' with him is his Little Xell, an' so are Ike and Joe. 
If there 's one thing that 's eternal, an' lives again above, — 
If there's one thing more'n another, I'm sure it's fam'ly love; 
A mighty change is death, no doubt, a change most of us fear, 
But love '11 never know a change, that 's true an' constant here. 



OVER THE DA:M 



359 



The poor-house now can't keep me, nurse, their arms are beck'nin' 

wide. 
Yes, I 'm sure I see 'em standin' down by the river side ; 
The old farm, too, is beck'nin' — the valley ^s green an' briglit, 
An' we '11 all go up the river, an' be at home to-night ; 
An' our friends in dear old Adams '11 all be getherin' in, 
I can hear the old-time voices — their welcome, merry din; 
Yes ! yes ! I see ^em ! All there ! All there I love the best ! 
I 'm so weary, nurse, so Aveary I I think — I think — I '11 rest !" 

EEUXIOX 

Far up the broad Ohio, where its waves the green shore sweep, 
Among the friends of childhood, in one grave, they sweetly sleep ; 
In the little country churchyard, ^vay down along the pike. 
Where, thro' tears, they caught the last glimpse and wave of Joe 

and Ike; 
Where 'neath the glow of noon-time, and the mystic gleam of 

stars, 
There 's ne'er a pang of poverty, nor news from cruel wars ; 
Where the airs are still as balmy, beneath the moon-lit sky, 
As in life's rosy love-time, when they watched the boats steam by ; 
Patriots, toilers, faithful lovers, along life's weary road, 
Eest them in their loved valley, peaceful be their last abode; 
And if there be a home beyond, far, far from mortal view, 
I hope in some hright mansion they'll be given *"A Eoom for 

Two." 



OYEK THE DAM 

Oh, peaceful and deep was the shaded stream. 

Above the old dam that I knew; 
But shallow below, and fretful its flow, 

'Mong the rocks where the cresses grew. 
And some of its waters swept thro' the race, 

To turn the great wheel of the mill ; 
While others less calm swept over the dam, 

With never a mission to fill. 

'T is ever the same with the most of folks, — 

Their energies, held in reserve. 
Are flung into spray and fritted away, 

When from useful channels tliey swerve ; 



360 ItEMIXISCENT RHYMES AKD OTHER VERSE 

Alas ! alas ! that we fail to perceive, 
In our assuring youth's deep calm, 

That the waters tossed, forever are lost, 
When once the}" go over the dam. 



THE LAST HOUSE OX THE STREET 

High up from the street, deserted it stands, 
A mansion all shattered by Time's rude hands; 
Once the country-seat of some merchant prince, 
Eorgotten his name and his trade long since; 
Forgotten the builder, forgotten his men. 
And every neighbor who came to it then. 
Along the broad road it stood farthest down. 
But now, in the very heart of the town; 
A lone land-mark of our pioneer past. 
Of all the great mansions, the very last; 
Surrounded by buildings that tower high,* 
Its spacious dimensions shrink to the eye; 
Plastered without, and of ye olden style. 
Its proportions provoke the stranger's smile; 
Some saying, they 'd very much like to know 
Which is bigger — the house or the portico. 

But the innovations of art and trade 
Its classical grandeur can never fade; 
Its massive pillars men stop to admire. 
More than modern block or towering spire; 
AMiile the ample porch and great, wide door 
Suggest the welcomes and good-byes of yore: 
And the wedding feast and the bridal throng; 
Then they wonder why it has stood so long, 
When its old companions have long made way 
Eor the pushing sale and trade of to-day; 
But there it lone stands, a forsaken thing. 
Still clinging to earth, as sad thoughts cling 
To an age-wearied man, unloved and alone, 
Bereft of all that he once called his own. 




Xo hospitable token invites the eye; 
Long, h)ng lias been broken each social tie 
Of assembled guests and bounteons board, 
And the merry laughter that round it roared ; 
The sumptuous halls and luxurious rooms 
Are now dismantled and silent as tombs ; 
All their rich adornings, their master^s pride. 
Have either perished or been scattered wide; 
361 



868 



THE LAST HOUSE OX THE STEEET 

The pictures and sculptures of ancient date, 

"Which once amazed both the low and the great, 

The aristocratic trappings of gilt, 

The grandfather's sword with its jewelled hilt. 

The trophies of war, and those of the chase. 

The antlers surmounting the great fireplace. 

The tapestries rich and the chinas rare, 

The royal velvet which covered the stair, 

The huge clock that stood on the landing place. 

And marked the slow hours with its honest face. 

The needle art and the silken banners. 

And gowns that displa3'ed ye old-time manners. 

Have vanished as tlio' they never had been, 

With the mem'ry of those who dwelt therein. 

Therein, where once rang the glad shout and song, 
When gay youth and beauty graced the swell throng ; 
Wlien light hearts beat high with music's mad thrill, 
And sly slippered feet tripped the gay quadrille ; 
AYhere the mother oft rocked her infant dears. 
And soothed their low sobs, and dried their tears. 
Or sang them to wonderlands of sweet rest, 
W^ith lullaby rides on her billowing breast. 
While hither and thither and in and out 
Iiomped the older children with merry shout ; — 
Not a sound or stir of life now is there. 
From the pantry dim to the topmost stair. 
Except tlie swift flight of portentous bat. 
Or the plaintive mew of a homeless cat. 
Which suddenly darts from an upper room 
Into the musty basement's rayless gloom; 
Or the spider, weaving dusty fringes 
O'er nook and ceiling, door and hinges ; 
Or the wood-louse, moth, and centipede. 
Which on the damp and dust and mildew feed ; 
Or the pickaninnies climbing in play 
Thro' windows where beauty gazed one day; 
Or the chattering sparrows, which thick invade 
The rents and gaps which ruthless Time hath made. 
The velvety lawn, which spread wide and fair, 
Hath not even a sign of human care ; 



364 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER A'ERSE 

Of the stately steps that once reached the place 
There now remains not a stone nor a trace ; 
But np to the portals a pathway leads. 
Fringed with rubbish and filthy weeds; 
And from the corroding and cracking walls 
The crumbling plaster incessantly falls ; 
And scattered around lie the shattered panes 
That once kept out the winds and the rains; 
AVhile over all breathes the woe and distress 
Of a ruined soul in its wretchedness. 

Tho' Time crumbleth the work of the artisan, 

Yet round it lingers the soul of the man — 

The merchant prince of ye primitive days. 

The art and style of ye old-fashioned ways, 

The taste and grace of his wealth and pride. 

And the nights of feast and revel beside; 

Xow strangely antique 'mid modern display. 

Untenanted, lifeless, left to decay. 

But conspicuous still, as in days of yore. 

When it charmed the voyager by the shore; 

For round its great columns lingers the glow 

Of the glory of Greece of long ago; 

Or, as if some banished poet of Rome 

Had here transplanted his soul and his home; 

Beauty imperishable, art sublime. 

Triumphant in ruin, challenging Time. 

And as idly stra3'eth the passer-by, 

This relic of old bye-gones claims his eye; 

Or if he be quickly hurrying fast. 

He halts at sight of this link of the past. 

Touched with the thought of relentless change, 

Of the tenure brief of this life so strange ; 

Touched with the sense of a glory gone. 

And with the fate of all, — Oblivion ; 

But a thought still sadder comes to the mind — 

When we 're out of style, and by age declined, 

When there 's hardly left a line or a trace 

Of the glow of youth that once lit our face. 

When vanished the pride of our stately prime, 

And our Godlike forms are crumblino^ with Time, 



A HOMELY SP:RM0N 365 

When we stand in ruin, like window! ess walls, 
With their vacant rooms and deserted halls, 
When wealth has flown with the friends of to-day. 
And, like an old mansion, we 're in the way. 
Then sorrowfully, tearfully be it told. 
This rushing world has no use for the old. 



A HOMELY SERMOX 

Some homely facts I '11 here relate 

Of human life and human fate; 

A mild defense make of this world, 

'Gainst which so much of spite is hurled; 

It may not suit some goodly flocks. 

It may not be quite orthodox ; 

In homely sermons homely told 

There may be gleaned some grains of gold. 

So far as I can plainly see. 

This world is good enough for me; 

There's always lots o' fume and fuss. 

About it bein' not good to us; 

We seldom stop to think a bit. 

If we are just as good as it. 

Some sit them down within the gloam. 

And sing — ^'This world is not my home ;" 

And more they sing, the more it 'pears 

It 's all a vale of bitter tears ; 

And then they think they 'd like to die. 

And take a trip up thro' the sky : 

All you who want to Heaven go, 

You know you 're lyin', why sav you so ? 

Tho' oft beset by care and strife. 

And grippe and such, that torture life, 

Tho' age may weary, pains may rack. 

You gather grit and still pull back ; 

In secret to the Eord you pray, 

If 'tis His will. He'll let you stay; 

To leave this earth you have such fear. 

You hire a doctor to keep you here. 



k 



366 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Who, like a lamp, would flicker out? 
Who ^d risk the certain on a doubt ? 
To death you say — "Just bide a wee ! 
This world is good enough for me !" 

Oh ! stop your morbid, mournful song, 
The world^s all right — it ^s you ^at ^s wron^ 
There's plenty here for each one's fare, 
There 's waste o' beauty everywhere ; 
You disregard kind Nature's rules, 
And suffer, 'cause you will be fools. 
If chance you do n't, you ought to know 
That every trouble, crime, and woe. 
That springs from Nature's surly mood, 
Is 'tended for the general good. 
Disease and sin are teachers wise, 
Awakening thought and opening eyes; 
Tho' Nature, seeming, gives offense. 
She 's generous with recompense ; 
She's portioned cut her bounteous store, 
That each his needs may have, and more; 
Decrees that food we all must earn. 
And justice to each other learn : 
That the right o' one is that of all, 
And each by each must stand or fall ; 
That progress should be made each day. 
And work be welcomed same as play. 
What normal man with sense enough 
To comprehend life in the rough. 
But Nature's purpose plain will see. 
And say, "It 's good enough for me ?" 

To you she's given for defense 
An ample quantity of sense; 
Apply it to some goodly use. 
Or do n't croak of the world's abuse ; 
Without your losses, there's no gains; 
Of your own making, most your pains; 
Free reign to appetite you give, 
And neither sane nor natural live; 



A HOMELY SERMON 3G7 

You drink and gorge and have no health. 
You loaf and spend, and have no wealth. 
And then a martyr pose and sigh, — 
Why, drat your soul ! you ought to die. 
Jes' sift it down, I '11 bet it 's true. 
This world is lots too good for you. 

If you have genius, be content, 
Tho' you have n't got a blessed cent ; 
Search all the world, you can not find 
Such wealth as lies within the mind; 
If you have houses, gold galore. 
Don't be a hog and root for more; 
In seeking gold, you miss the mirth. 
The perfume, and the joy of earth. 
He 's wise who knows he has enough 
Of brains, or of the soulless stuff ; 
He 's wise who seeks for every good 
In fellowship and brotherhood; 
Who pushes on and e'er delights 
To lift the lowly to his heights; 
Who less with God puts all his trust. 
And more with man seeks to be just; 
Who liveth thus enshrined should be 
In marbled immortality. 

He's wise who oft with Beauty strays 

Thro' all her flowery, devious ways; 

Who roams wliere soft the moonlight beams 

And glorifies the rippling streams. 

That leap and sport in hurried fun. 

Like children laughing as they run : 

Who loses sight of naught around 

That tints the sky or robes the ground; 

The buds, as on the green they take, 

When soft south winds the green world wake ; 

Dawn-tinted morns and azure noons 

Of budding Mays and flowery Junes; 

The ripening fields and sylvan woods, 

And sunsets bathed in sapphire floods: 



368 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Of Autumn's gold, and Winter's snows, 
When Beauty wears her brightest clothes. 
He 's wise who has a soul for these. 
And all of Xature's mysteries; 
Of human handwork as well. 
Of Art's divine creative spell, — 
The poesy of mighty thought. 
By chisel, brush and color wrought; 
He 's wise who in these plainly scan 
The man in God, and God in man; 
So much of God right here I see, 
This world is Heaven enough for me. 

I 've oft been up and oft been down, 

Worn tribulations heavy crown ; 

Have hunger known, and loved too well. 

Been passion tossed, and tasted hell; 

Have fagged and fainted by the way. 

And wished that life would end with da}"; 

But when thro' twilight soft I gazed. 

And out the stars of heaven blazed, 

And from their high worlds gleamed on this, 

Tliro' azure dej^ths of liquid bliss. 

So beautiful seemed earth and sky, 

I felt ashamed to wish to die; ' 

And, coming to myself, I 'd say. 

Affliction 's only for the day ; 

No matter how clouds come and go, 

This beauteous world is all aglow; 

And every flame of grief and doubt. 

Some breath of beauty pufl's it out; 

And every sorrow, pain, and wrong 

Is smothered by some soulful song; 

And every hate that springs to liglit 

By love is buried deep from sight ; 

And each success from toil that 's wrought 

Is glorified by gleaming thought; 

From Heaven to Hell we daily trend, 

Then back with Heaven gently blond : 

No law is fixed — all rests on change — 

On transformation, sweet and strange. 



A HOMELY SERMON 

The waves that toss in foam to-day 
By morning's dawn have passed away; 
And hushed their hoarse^ sepulchral roar 
Upon some calm and simbright shore. 
The April snn and singing stream* 
Visit the hidden bud in dreams; 
So sly the blue-bell peeps its leaves. 
Earth's soddy bosom scarcely heaves. 
And soon all signs of Winter's stress 
Are robed in vernal loveliness. 
So much surprise and change I see. 
There 's wonder here enough for me. 

To him who loves, a pansy's face, 

A rose's blush, a lily's grace. 

The light from maiden's eyes that w^U 

And soft the heart's confessions tell. 

The love that speaks from finger-tips. 

The kisses warm of wedded lips, 

The worlds of wonder and surprise 

That glint and glow from baby eyes. 

The eager aims of loving wife 

With hooks of steel link him to life. 

So much is grand, so much is good. 

In loving human brotherhood. 

So much of beauty tints the ground, 

So much enchants of sight and sound. 

So much to learn and to inspire. 

And of the infinite acquire. 

So much right here to praise and love, 

I've no desire to move above; 

So much of glory here in sight, 

I'd make "farewell" indefinite; 

So much to drink, so much to eat. 

This world is one great glorious treat. 

If chance you only get a bit. 

The fault is more with you than it; 

So long as it puts up with 3'ou, 

With all your good and meanness, too. 

Likewise you should n't hesitate 

To pleasantly reciprocate; 



360 



370 KEMINISCEXT KHVMES A^s'D OTHEli VEliSE 

For be assured that, come what may, 
It 's not depending on 3^0Tir stay ; 
And pleased or not, it has to be 
Both good enough for you and me. 



THE ETEENAL SWAY OF A'EXUS 

I LOVE my wife and baby, 

I'm devoted, fond, and true; 
I would n't take the wide, wide world 

For these sweetest, dearest two; 
And if e'er I am inconstant, 

I deserve to be struck dumb; 
But I never see a pretty girl, 

But what I love her some. 

For the eternal sway of A^onus 

Overwhelms the raptured thought. 
And fast in Circe's glances 

The artist's eye is caught; 
Perfection is the one design 

That all our natures fit ; 
And everything that 's beautiful 

We love a little bit. 

They say that up in Heaven, 

That sex is all the same ; 
That no marriage there is given. 

Which '11 make it rather tame ; 
But if e'er I am so lucky 

As to get to Kingdom Come, 
If there's any pretty angels, 

I '11 have to love 'em some. 



FIRST PRINCIPLES 

There ne'er was a faith or religion. 
Founded upon altar or throne, 

But was first to persecute other sects. 
And greedily plunder its own. 



ON ME THE BUKDEN 371 



SWEET HELIOTROPE 

*^'A few seeds found on the breast of a mummy in the British 
Museum were planted, and proved to be that of the heliotrope." 

Sweet Heliotrope ! Sweet Heliotrope ! 
Spirit flower of joy and hope ! 

Thou bloomest fair again; 
AVhen, after many centuries, 

Entombed thy soul hath lain 
'Mong might monarch mummies. 

In Egypt's sandy plain ; 
The rarer seeming thy sweet breath. 
For being housed so long with death ; 
So let some good I do to-day, 

Some thought I chance may write. 
When ages long have passed away. 

Burst beauteous on the sight. 



OX ME THE BURDEN" 

I Ve sorrows seen adov/n life's line. 
Seen people 'neath them pale and pine, 
And said — "I 'm glad they are not mine.'' 

Of sorrow, too, I 've had my share, 

Been grilled by grief, and crushed by care. 

Such as no soul should have to bear. 

Have reaped but tears where joys I 've sown. 
Till heartaches have so common grown 

I 've ceased to think about them ; 
Aye, so many troubles have I known, 

That lost I 'd be without them ; 

But, as bearing with them day by day. 
They common grew, I learned to say. 
Far better that they fall on me. 
Who 've strength and that philosophy 



B72 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VEKSE 

That fits me to endure, 
Than that they on the weak should fall, 
Whose very weaknesses are all 

The frail should know, and poor; 
On me — whom Nature made it seems. 
To live a life of blighted dreams, 
And still find hope in each defeat, 
Still beauty find, and love-joys sweet, 

'Mid griefs that have no cure. 

August 17, 1909. 



MOLLY LEE 

Once more beside your silent tomb 

I stand, sweet Molly Lee, 
As when, in boyhood's budding bloom 
I stood and murmured at the doom 

That snatched you, dear, from me, — 
That turned that glowing life to clay, 

A change I can't forget; 
Eor just as plain to me to-day, 
I see them laying you away; 
And just why one so young and gay 

Should die, I question yet — 
AVhy should it be. 
Sweet Molly Lee? 

Keen, keen the pain, and deep the groan 

That wrung my boyish heart; 
None knew my sorrow, heard m}^ moan. 
As late I lingered here alone, — 
From you I could not part; 
Till soft the stars of heaven shed 

Their pitying glances down 
Upon your new-made, flower-strewn bed, 
\Yhere prone I lay, and grieving, said, 
"How can it he that she is dead? 
Closed aye those eyes of brown 
That beamed on me — 
My :\[olly Lee." 



THE UNIVERSAL. HYPOCRISY 

Bright shone the skies, the fields as fair. 

Where last we loving strayed ; 
The wild-flowers blossomed everywhere. 
And spread their incense on the air. 

And cool the woodland shade ; 
The sleepy brook seemed to arouse. 

And conscious leaped along; 
The knowing birds among the boughs 
Were witness of our secret vows, 
And that first kiss that love allows, — 

Again I hear their song, 

'Xeath that old tree. 
With Molly Lee. 

Each flower and leaf, as well as bird. 

Their gladness wont to prove. 
With modest passion glowed and stirred. 
And thrilled them with each kiss and word. 

Responsive to our love. 
That leafy path of long ago. 

That day, can I forget? 
Xow white the woodland is with snow. 
And dead the leaves we used to know. 
And hushed the songs that thrilled us so. 
And gray I 've grown — my step is slow — 

But still I love thee yet ; 
Still love but thee. 
My Molly Lee. 



373 



THE UmVERSAL HYPOCRISY 

There 's just a certain phase of life 
We all would try to smother — 
'T is this : 
We stack and deal with selfish aim. 
And make it more or less a game. 

By which we cheat each other : 
A training school, by which we fool 
And trick and beat each other — 
Then, kiss. 



874 KEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



WHEN THE SANDS IN THE GLASS OF TIME 
GROW OLD 

AViiEN the sands in the glass of time grow old, 

And have nearly trickled through ; 
And the limbs grow numb, and face white and cold. 

And stands on the brow death's dew, 
Let the hours remaining of all be the best 

That ever existence spent; 
Such calm and such peace, that with life's release. 

They ^11 say — "Like a dream he went." 

With ne'er a regret for my past mistakes, 

AVhich Nature implanted in me, 
AVithout my wish — for surely she makes 

Each life to be as 'twill be; 
And with never a fear of the future dim. 

But only joy at the thought. 
In the toil and strife of imperfect life 

A larger freedom I wrought. 

Thus let me pass from this wonderful world. 

To the future, where'er it be, 
On the infinite winds my atoms be hurled, 

And my soul to its destiny; 
But this much I know of the little known 

Of the final end of man. 
Still with Nature we ^11 blend, and be kept to the end, 

A part of her beautiful plan. 



JEANNIE SUTHERLAND 

I DO n't want ter be an angel, 

Ner with the angels stand ; 
But 'ould ruther with my sweetheart, 

Jes' sit an' hold her hand. 
No, I 'm not the least a doubtin' 

They 're good ez good kin be; 
But little Jeannie Sutherland 

Is good ernough fer me. 



375 



Fer, she 's got a crown o' glory, — 

Her brown, sun-threaded hair; 
An' her voice makes sweeter music 

Than any harp up there; 
No, I doubt not 'at the angels 

Best o' company may be; 
But little Jeannie Sutherland 

Is good ernough f er me. 

I do n't wanter be an angel. 

At least, not f er a while ; 
Ez long ez Jeannie's lips greet mine, 

An' love shines in her smile : 
An' ez long ez her sweet bosom. 

My dreamful rest shall be, 
Then little Jeannie Sutherland 

Is good ernough fer me. 

When ye try ter ketch a spirit. 

They vanish into air; 
But when my arms 'fold Jeannie, 

Ten Heavens center there; 
Yes, the company o' Heaven, 

Perfected, sweet may be ; 
But long ez woman 's on this earth. 

It 's good ernough f ex me. 



LIFE'S STAET 

Throughout the long ages, all life and thought. 

Far from being true and free, 
To sanctified folly were fettered fast. 

And to reverent absurdity. 
And still human beings as blindly grope 

'Mong dogmas dismal and dense. 
And their sanctions give to words and claims 

That have n't a bit of sense ; 
Ah! when will men learn, in this world of strife. 
That so noble and grand a thing as life 

AYith proven truth should commence? 
23 



376 KEMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VEKSK 



THE RIVEE'S SECEET 

This poem is founded upon the tragic love story and fate of 
Attorne}^ James Brandt, of this city. Tlie young lady, to whom 
he was engaged, suddenly disappeared. Her hat and coat were 
found on the Suspension Bridge. For many months thereafter 
Mr. Brandt haunted the river in search of her body, which was 
never found. He was never the same man afterward, and in 
time became a hopeless mental wreck, and was committed to a 
sanitarium, where he died. What the secret was which led to 
this tragic ending — the suicide of the one, and the insanity and 
death in the mad-house of the other — has never been revealed; 
but rarely has a love story of real life combined such pathos, 
passion, romance, remorse, despair, mystery, madness, and com- 
plete wreck and ruin. 

As A river may sparkle and dimple 

Over something dead in its bed, 
So, bright and gay, the thought may play 
Over a heart that is dead. 
My heart, it is, that is dead — 
As dead as the secret that lies 
Locked in the heart and the eyes 
Of her in the river^s bed ; 
Dead, dead. 
As the face I see, staring ever at me. 

Up from the river's bed ; 
A white dead face, where lingers the trace 
Of the madness, which blent with its beauty and grace. 
Staring up from the river's bed. 
Ah ! what shall be said. 
Of a living love, mad, 
And a mad love, dead ? 

Ah ! look you there ! 

Where a strand of her liair 
Half hides the eyes' mad, open stare; 

That stare of despair. 

Still fixed in their glare, 
As when over the bridge she whirled thro' the air ; 

Can you sec them down there? 



THE kiver's secret 377 

And that golden band, on her snow-white Jiand, 
A golden band^ do you understand? 
That over her dead heart lies; 
Oh! the stare of those eyes; 
Those lusterless, lifeless eyes ! 
Those once beaming, love-dreaming eyes ! 
And ever the white of the upturned face, 
And the stiffened form — whose line? you may trace; 
Like others, why will it not rise? 
Ah ! why did she do it ? 
Ere she died, did she rue it ? 
Might a word, left unspoken. 
The mad spell have broken? 
But what more can be said 
Of a living love, mad. 
And a mad love, dead? 



Wimt more may be said. 
Save that the dead, 
That lieth at peace in the river's bed, 
Knoweth not of the madness overhead ; 
Of the madness of living — 
Neither living nor dead ; 
Of the dreaming of seeming 
To have loved and wed ; 
And then of a face — a white dead face. 
Staring up from the river's bed ; 
Oh ! the pain in the brain. 
And the iron bands, which heavy hands 
Seem ever to bind to the brain : 
Ah! the shadows that gather in spectral train, 
Then whirl and whirl about in the brain. 
And that can not be straightened out ; 
That the world can not straighten out ; 
Oh ! is there a Power in that to be. 
Of its demons of sorrow the brain can free ? 
That can straighten a mad love out ? 



378 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Oh ! the things that are mixed. 
And that can not be fixed. 
The jangles, the tangles, the twists in the brain; 
The wars and the jars of the heart and the brain ; 
The ceaseless confusions. 
Delusions, illusions. 
Of the poor, tired brain. 
Oh ! the madness of living — of living half dead, 
AVhen the best of living is madness. 
When the best hath but little gladness. 
Far better the river^s bed ; 
Ah ! the beautiful forms the river enfolds I 
Ah ! the deep heart-secrets it faithfully holds I 

Down deep in its quiet bed. 
Ah ! the shattered wrecks that in the madhouse hide ; 
The shells of existence — naught else beside; 
Ah ! the specters of life, that through it glide, 
Mere phantoms — half living, half dead; 
But what more can be said 
Of a living love, mad, 
And a mad love, dead ? 



JES' LIKE HIM ■ 

The music l)est o' choir or band 
Is that which all folks understand; 
Ez nateral, too, most verse should be, 
'At plain folks thro' it, plain kin sec — 

Xot out o' sight, nor dim ; 
Xo sense in writin' 'bout things in the air, 
'At ain't found there, nor anywhere, — 
AVho keers fer spirits, foul er fair, 

Er spook, er seraphim ? 
Er shaddery shapes o'' m.any kinds, 
'xVt 'scape from crazy poets' minds — 

Full o' sich to the brim ; 
Let folks I know, say this o' me, 
(Though critics crush me utterly), 
"He 's nateral like ez he kin be — 

Sounds 'zactly jcs' like him ; 



MANS FICrHT FOR HUMANITY 

Right from his heart, he sez his say, 
'Thout keerin' a rap 'bout other's way- 
He is n't skeered 'bout his futur' fate, 
And he gives us facts right up ter date; 
His knees ain't got no hinge ner crook. 
An' he won't lie ter sell his book." 



379 



DIVOECE 

To SUCH as are wedded to living woe. 

Why should hell continuous prevail ? 
"Who, for a mistake in judgment, should have 

To remain forever in jail ? 

Once in — once sta}^ — no bail ! 
Each love an experiment e'er must be ; 

Oft blinded it chooses its mate ; 
But for what good reason should it e'er be chained 

To an unforeseen, miserable fate? 

An unnatural, soul-cursing state? 

Still alive is the Inquisition to-day. 

Its terrors seem never to fade ; 
E'en still would imprison and torture love — 

The tender est thing God ever made — 

In hell, neck-deep, compel it to wade. 
Than the man or woman, who 'd thus submit, 

There 's but one other bigger fool. 
And that is the Law or Church, who 'd enforce 

Such an outrageous, reasonless rule. 
The least man could do, would be to sunder 
This Divine (?) as well as human blunder. 



MAN'S FIGHT FOR HUMANITY 

That the threat and fear of a hopeless hell 
Should have swayed mankind, seemeth odd ; 

Nor vanished forever its evil spell, 
Till man became better than God. 



l)80 1CEM1^•ISCE2^T KUYMES AKD OTHEK VEKlSE 

THE DARKIES' HEAVEN 

You ma' talk about yo' Hebbin', 

An' jis' how bright it looks, 
Wid its palaces an' fountains, 

An' de crystal-flowin' brooks. 
An' de glis'nin' walls o' jaspah, — 

Angels soarin' roun' de top, 
An' de hawps a makin' music, — 

Nebbah comin' to a stop ; 
An' de fields o' bloomin' ropcs, 

All a-drippin' honey sweet. 
An' de trees a-growin' diamon's, — 

But what yer gwine ter eat ? 

Oh! crown an' hawp fob de Wliite man, 

Fob de Injun, dog an' gun. 
But de Hebbin' fob de Niggah 

Mus' be 'tahly diff'rent one; 
Ah dreams ob a home obah yondah, 

Whah de banjo's chimin' sweet; 
Whah ebery day am a Sunday, 

An' de preachah cum to eat. 

Mah ideas 'bout dat Hebbin' 

Am cu-rous-ly mah own; 
Ah nebbah seed black angels 

Pictered flyin' roun' dat frone; 
Ah doan cab much fob music 

Sich as quiah an' ohgan peals. 
Which set de wings a floppin'. 

But nebbah shifs de heels; 
Palace no place fob de Niggah, 

Noh stroll 'long golden street. 
On de alaplaster sidewalk, 

An' nuffin' dab to eat. 

Oh ! crown an' hawp fob de White man. 
Fob de Injun, dog an' gun, 

But de Hebbin' fob de Niggah 
Mus' be 'tahlv diff'rent one; 



LOW T1J)KS 

Ah dreams ob a home obah yondali, 
Whah de banjo 's chimin' sweet ; 

Whah ebery day am a Sunday, 
An' de preachah cum to eat. 

Let White man liab dat H ebb in', 

Whah de angels fly all 'roun; 
An' Injin' hab his dog and gun. 

An de happy huntin' groun'; 
Gib to me mah leetle cabin, 

De sunflowahs roun' de doah, 
An' a thousan' banjos chimin' 

AYhen de darkies cum ashoah, — 
Watah-millions in de valleys, 

All a rip'nin' in de sun, 
De woods jis full o' 'simmon trees, 

Wid a possum up each one. 

Oh! crown an' hawp foh de White man, 

Foil de Injun, dog an' gun, 
But de Hebbin' foh de Niggah 

Mus' be 'tahly diff'rent one; 
Ah dreams ob a home obah yondah, 

Whah de banjo 's chimin' sweet ; 
Whah ebery day am a Sunday, 

An' de preachah cum to eat. 



3<SL 



LOW TIDES 

Whex the intellectual level is low, 
And but little more do the masses know 

Than to hope and trust and pray ; 
Then charlatans by thousands rise, 
Who famous grow in ignorant eyes. 
And mounting to the very skies. 

By their superstitions sway; 
Like rocks that girt the ocean's shore. 
That hidden lie when high waves roar, 

They huge and mighty grow; 
And towering rise to wondrous size. 

When the water, it is low. 



382 EEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



SWEET SOUL OF SONG 

As OFT my soul hath taken flight 

Toward fair song realms of tuned deliglit. 

That oft, a dart hath given wound, 

And dropped nw pinions to the ground. 

Last eve, as I was wont to soar 

To heights my muse ne'er readied before, 

A cruel shaft was at me aimed, 

And down I fluttered, stricken, maimed ; 

And like a poor bird, languishing, 

ISTo further heart had I to sing. 

*^Why strive/' said I, "to reach those skies, 

AVhere genius great can only rise? 

"Why further toil, when torturing care 

Makes life a load too hard to bear ? 

And comes the frequent thought to me. 

That from its pains I would be free.'' 

But hardly had I made such moan 
AYhen, in the softest, tenderest tone, 
A sweet voice whispered in my ear — 
"Hast thou forgot that I am near. 
When wounded worst, thy heart to cheer? 
When faileth thou to soar to me. 
Have I e'er failed to come to thee ? 
So, calm thee now, poor troubled heart. 
My hand shall pluck this cruel dart." 

Then, looking up, beheld I there 
A vision — radiant as rare — 

A face of perfect mold; 
Of filmy light her robe was made. 
Of every changing tint and shade — 

Her hair of sunset gold ; 
Her form, all others, real or dreamed, 

In shapely lines excelled; 
Her eyes with mystic beauty beamed, 

Fair shrines where music dwelled ; 
"Sweet Poesy !" I faintly cried, 
"My Comforter ! my Spirit Bride !" 



SWEET SOUL OF SONG- 

Then o'er me came a sudden sense 

Of humbleness and shame, 
That thus she 'd find me, faint of heart. 

And weak of will, and lame. 

Then spake she soft, but gently chided, — 
*'Would'st tliou from me be e'er divided? 
What tho' thou suffer oft and long. 
Hast thou not still the gift of song? 
\A'hat tho' it not to heaven rise? 
'T would ne'er be heard far in the skies. 

By needful souls around thee ; 
Have I not said thou canst not fail. 
If lovers list thee in the vale, 

And children glad surround thee? 
If minds long bound by error's chain. 
Through thee their liberty regain? 
And if the weak and lowly see 
Themselves reflected brirht in thee. 
Why seek the starry heaven's glow ? 
The earth is beautiful — fly low." 

"Eut now, no longer will I chide; 
Let me thy nurse be, and thy guide ; 
Come hide us in this ambuscade 
Of blossoming vines and emerald shade; 
The spicy airs thy wound will heal, 
Xo one a prying look will steal 

Into this haunt of ours, 
Save wond'ring eyes, bright with surprise, 

Of sympathetic flowers; 
And none will listen to our vows. 
Save birds a nesting in the boughs ; 

Or bees that honeying rove, 
AYho '11 speed them to the songsters round. 
And tell them of thy hurt and wound. 

And to silence soothe the grove; 
They, knowing thy love for them, so deep, 
Would ne'er disturb thy rest or sleep." 



383 



38J: liEMlNISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VKKSK 

"Of this gieen moss, we'll make our bed; 
On my white breast thou 'It lay thy head. 
And peaceful, sweet thy slumbers be. 
Beneath our star-charmed canopy; 
And with the coming new-born day, 
. Thy sorrows all will pass away; 
Thyself, then, to thyself revealed, 

!More clear will see; 
Far greener, then, will glow tlie field. 

The vale, the vine, the tree : 
And each beseecliing floweret's face 

AYill pleadingly implore. 
That thou 'It not cease to sing of them. 

But try again once more ; 
"What matter what may be thy lot. 
If only I forsake thee not? 
Can'st thou despair, when thou hast me. 
The Soul of Song, to comfort thee?" 

When Phoebus pierced the starry dawn. 

And birds announced the day, 
Then, like a dream, before my eyes 

She faded slow away. 
I arose, and stepped beyond my bower. 
Once more a slave to beauty's power ; 
The far East hills, like green stair-steps. 

Arose to mountain heights. 
O'er which the blush.ing sun diffused 

Ten million rosy lights ; 
The mosque-like clouds that fringe d the sky 

Were tipped with silver sheen, 
And blent their white with dusky earth's 

Commingling blue and green. 

More grand than ever seemed to me. 
The mountain's might and majesty ; ' 

More beautiful the winding vale. 
The songs of birds awake; 

More golden bright the broadening light 
That split the slumbering lake; 



A NEIGllJJO>-LY UAlilT 385 

As fairer grew the world to view, 
I felt my spirit made anew ; 
What, after all;, said I, can bless? 
Can give such cheer and happiness. 

Or wealth to me? 
As gift, thy beauty to express. 

Sweet Poesy I 
AAHiat, after all, can soothe and hill 
Like visions of the beautiful ? 
Then let afflictions many come, 
Let me a homeless wanderer roam. 

Let sorrows throng; 
Content I '11 be, whatever my lot. 
So long as thou forsake me not. 

Sweet Sou! of Song. 



LIFE 



It 's ever off, and it 's ever on. 

And it 's up and down the hill ; 
To-day you 're here, to-morrow gone. 

So eat and drink your fill ; 
No good thing miss, no nectared kiss, — 

The foam not even spill. 
For life is but a journey short. 

So live it while you may ; 
He can not say he's lived at all 

Who has not lived to-day ; 
You can't help some things going wrong. 
So, sing a song as you scratch along 

The whole vexatious wav. 



A NEIGHBORLY HABIT 

There 's none but would the world convert. 

To his belief: the fact is. 
We 'd have our neighbors have our faith, 

But nothing know of its practice. 



386 llEMINISCE2sT RHYMES A2sD OTHEK VERSE 



WHITE SLAVERY 

As IXTELLIGEXT the black slave grew, 

He from liis master ran ; 
But toward their masters, with a rush, 
Ten million white slaves crowd and push 

To get a job who can ; 
To serve them just for feed like curs, 
To make them their mind's managers, 

While ne'er a profit winning : 
To fight their battles and to die, 
Their daughters for their lust suppl}'. 
And with advance of age have less 
To live on, and far more distress. 

Than at the hard beginning. 
Ah ! how few there be that realize. 

How few ere age can see, 
The lot they draw in life's grand prize 

Is naught but slavery — 

The poor, bare right to be. 



THE LAW OF LIFE 

Where nature does least, right there may be found 

The acme of human exertion; 
Where nature does most, least stirred is the ground. 

And repose means death and desertion. 
Toil is the law, be it of head or hand. 

No existence without resistance ; 
Who would live not die, his thought must apply 

With a dogged, firm persistence. 



HUNTING 



Are the pleasures of men so rare and so few. 
That hunting and killing they needs must pursue? 
Must forever the victims of field and wood 
Supply the old thirst for human blood? 
How can he for his own kind truly feel 
To whom the innocent makes no appeal ? 



POEMS OF EUROPE AND THE SEA 



WHENCE? WHITHER? 

Forever the mystic waves of the sea 

Come and go, come and go; 
Displacing each ether, and ceasing to be. 

As they flow, as they flew ; 
But few are the great, and many the small. 
And tho' they be short, or tho' they be tall, 
They only rise but to sink and to fall, 

And to disappear in the sea; 

And be lost in the mystic sea. 
Happy, exultant, they carelessly roam. 
And for a brief moment swell into foam, 
Then out of the light and into the gloam 

Of the deep mysterious sea; 

It is thus that the waves cease to be ; 
And if ever again the same waves flow, 
There 's none of us know, but this we do know. 
That all of us know tliat none of us know 
From whence the waves come, or whither they go. 

Thus the millions of men like the waves of the sea 

Come and go, come and go; 
Displacing each other, and ceasing to be. 

As they flow, as they flow ; 
And the many are small and great the few. 
And tho' all alike each other pursue. 
They only rise up to sink from view. 

Like the countless waves of the sea. 

That are lost in the mystic sea; 
Happy, exultant, rain-bowed with delight, 
For a moment brief they spring into light. 
And swell into foam, then back into night, 

Like the myriad waves of the sea, 

So the multitudes cease to be; 
387 



388 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

But if ever again with life they '11 glow, 
There *s none of us know, but this we do know, 
That all of us know that none of us know 
From whence cometh men, and whither they go. 

—On the Atlantic, August ^0, 1904. 



THE CRADLE AXD GEAYE OF ALL 

Thou "rt the very fountain of life, Sea ! 

The mother of great and small; 
The life thou givest, returneth to thee. 

Thou cradle and grave of all ; 
Tliou moisteneth earth with the kiss of thy lips. 

Thou courseth thro' ev'ry vein ; 
Thy mists run to rivers, bearing great ships. 

As they speed to thy bosom again. 

Thou 'rt source of all beautiful thougl^t, sea ! 

Since thou art the source of life ; 
Each gem of the mind is crystalled in thee. 

And is polished by thy strife; 
Far down in thy sun-lie caverns there spring 

The genius that lightens earth ; 
And in halls of amber where mermaids sing. 

Music and beauty find birth. 

And tliere ^s naught in the world so deep, sea ! 

Xaught, naught but a deathless love; 
AVliicli giveth and lavishcth all like thee. 

And wlilch cometh from above ; 
Like thee, too, love neither pauses nor sleeps. 

In its ever resistless flow; 
And, like thine, its secrets are buried in deeps 

iSTo mortal can fathom, or know. 

—On the Atlantic, August ?2, 1904. 



STKATFORD UPOX AVON 389 



STRATFOED UPOX AVOX 

Since I 've wandered 'round thy streets and lanes, 

And thy country-sides all day, 
I marvel no more thy Shakespeare left 

So little for others to say; 
So little to picture, so little to tell. 
Of daisy and dingle and dew-drop and dell; 
Of merry sweet maidens with heart's-ease eyes. 
That borrow their blue from the blue of the skies ; 
Of hillsides and valley and forest and stream, 
xind of violet banks where lovers dream 

Thro' the drowsy hours of the day; 
Of lily-land, fairy-land, wild-wood and glen, 
Where naiad and nymph hide from eyes of men. 

Or in moon-shimmered fountains play. 

Xay, I marvel not at thy great Shakespeare, 
Since Xature lavished her fairest gifts here. 
Supplying in surfeit, from fairies to men, 
xlll things to inspire his omnipotent pen : 
While making of him her favorite and choice 
To mimic herself and to echo her voice : 
Thus fitting the man to the time and the scene. 
She arrayed herself in a gossamer green. 

That his eyes only should see; 
That his be the master hand to reveal 
The celestial form she fain would conceal. 

And her infinite variety; 
That his be the glorv, and his the might, 
To flood sweet Avon and the world with light ; 
So I marvel no more at this distant day, 

That Shakespeare left so little to say. — 

So little to say, in his masterful way. 
Of the season's many mysterious moods. 
And the power and might of trackless woods: 
The pearl-paved portals of the peeping morn. 

Dyed with the blushes of wakening day ; 
The call to the chase by the huntsman's horn. 

And the stag-hounds' deep and distant bny : 



390 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Of mountain and fountain and river and rill. 
And symphonies sweet, which the forests fill, 

(And echo as sweetly repeating) ; 
Of sylvan glades and hawthorne shades. 
Where peasant lovers press sweet maids. 

Each heart with true love beating; 
While the sunshine smiles through leafy aisles. 

And birds ;,'oy at their greeting. 
Of music and beauty and color and form, 
Of thunder and lightning and tempest and storm ; 
Of the myriad existence of blossom and flower. 
Of sunset splendor and rainbow and shower ; 
Of peaks that pierce with their purpled spires 
The firmament filled with infinite fires; 
Of planets stupendous, and sun and star, 
Thro' unthinkable silences wheeling afar; 
Of the mystical moon, and the many-tongued night. 
When the witch w^orld revels in eerie delight ; 
And goblin and ghost and ominous owl 
Mingle with monsters most ugly and foul, 
AVho, by some mystic charm, are made to act 
As tho' they were real people, in fact. 

So little to say that he has not said. 

Of all of the living, and all of the dead; 

Of life and its problems, thro' every stage. 

From mewling infant to slippered age; 

Of tinker and tailor and tippler and bawd. 

From lowest to highest, having likeness of God ; 

Of knighthood and honor, and glory and shame. 

And the power of virtue the passions to tame; 

Of romance and daring, of love and of hate. 

Of mystery, madness, fortune, and fate; 

Of murder, revenge, and conscience and fear. 

Of sorrow and joy, and laughter and tear; 

Of courtship and marriage, and revel and feast, 

Of cardinal, counsellor, lackey, and priest ; 

Of palace and pomp and the splendor of dress. 

And the uttermost depths of wretchedness; 

Of philosophy, logic, science, and art. 

And power and mercy, playing each a strange part ; 



OF ALL OF THE HUMAN VANITIES 391 

Of intrigue and war, and commerce and trade. 
Of queen and lady, and mistress and maid ; 
Of king and courtier, and peasant and fool, 
i\.nd the learned of every faith and school. 
From the rustic hind to the lordliest great 
That fill the councils of war and of state. 

Such is thy Shakespeare — whose mystic mind 

Depicted the passions of all human kind; 

As oceanic as the limitless sea.. 

And as mountainous in its immensity ; 

In whom all spaces of thought unite. 

Like the sun that girdles the earth with light ; 

A wisdom, a spirit, a prophet, a sage, 

The wonder of this, and of every age. 

But why should n't he, the heights and the depths 

Of the human soul impart. 
When Nature chose he should here abide. 

In the very heart of her heart? 

— Eed Lion Inn, Stratford, August 26, 1904. 



OF ALL OF THE HUMAN VANITIES 

(Written in St. Paul's, London, after a visit to White Chapel.) 

Of all of the human vanities 

That common sense resists. 
It 's building palaces to God 

While poverty exists ; 
To Him who made the mountain chain. 

The cataract and seas. 
For gilded altar, chirping praise, 

What careth He for these ? 

While widows slave for but a crust. 

And girls their virtue sell. 
And to half of men, because of want, 

This life 's itself a hell, 
24 



392 KEMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHEK VERSE 

Why build great palaces to Him, 
Who sets huge suns in space 

Ten thousand million miles beyond 
A bishop^s power to trace? 

"VYIiat needeth He, what careth He, 

For dome and towering spire? 
AVho knoweth neither height nor depth. 

Whose lights are worlds of fire ? 
But if the God who made the suns 

A God of feeling be, 
He '11 heed, instead of templed praise. 

The groans of poverty. 



A REVEEIE OF THE EHINE 

When oft for other scenes I pine. 

And time so dreary drags. 
In dreams, I 'm sailing up the Ehine, 
Between her slopes of nectared vine. 

And tow'ring castled crags ; 
0, sun and moon ! How weird they shine. 
With light half earthly, half divine. 

Around those castled crags. 

In distance dim their forms I spy. 
Like ghostly, spectral powers ; 
More near, their shapes loom upward high. 
In broken outlines 'gainst the sky, 

Of crumbling walls and towers: 
Where oft gay knights their love would sigh. 
To maidens fair in days gone by. 
Along those walls and towers. 

And mailed warriors fought the foe. 

At sunrise bugle calls. 
And hurled them back to depths below. 
Or fell thempelves from mortal blow. 



A REVERIE OF THE RHINE 

And toppled o'er the walls; 
Grim scenes of valor, pride, and woe. 
Of hot, red blood that once did flow, 

And stain those hoary walls. 

At every turn a new surprise 

Breaks on the 'wildered view ; 
The vintage with the forest vies, 
The blossoms breathe of Paradise, 

And flaunt in every hue ; 
And scattering grey-walled cities rise, 
^Keath towers that pierce pellucid skies. 
Of dreamy tinted blue. 

By Bonn and Bingen now I glide. 

And Lorlei rising bold; 
Here mermaids sported in the tide. 
And music made for 'prisoned bride. 

In fairy days of old; 
Here cavaliers their courage tried, 
And fought in lists, and bravely died, 

AYhen hearts were hearts of gold. 

Once more from Heidelberg's grim heiglit, 

I ponder on the days 
When glory lay in chase and fight, 
And feasts were spread far in the night, 

And warriors sang their lays ; 
When might was right, and right was might. 
And blood as cheap as water quite, 

In old baronial days. 

And haughty feudal chiefs looked down 
O'er lands with blood dear bought ; 
O'er savage serf and stupid clown. 
And smiling vale and rustic town. 
And huntsman's humble cot; 
Then his the glory and renown. 
Who won at tournament the crown, 
And hand his heart had sought. 



394 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

In criTmbling ruins, grey and hoar, 

Old Heidelberg now stands; 
Proud chiefs and cavalcades no more 
Pass in and out the draw-bridge door. 

Nor royal hunting bands ; 
Nor captives pace the dungeon floor, 
Nor slave and serf their life-blood pour 
At tyrant lord's commands. 

Now far adown the mountain side 
Fair scenes of freedom smile; 
And might and right in peace abide. 
With justice twixt them to decide. 

And progress to beguile; 
Here learning sits in modest pride, 
xVnd mighty change rules far and wide 
Around this ruined pile. 

Still Beauty clings to mount and vale. 

The river flows the same; 
And flow'ry meads their sweets exhale. 
As Avooers wander through the dale. 
And breathe love's holy name; 

! weird the moon, and witching pale. 
As in the days of coats of mail. 

And chivalry and fame. 

Once more, by shadowy firelight beam, 

I 'm sailing up the Ehine ; 
My boat parts soft the silver stream, 

1 see the sun along it gleam, 

I breathe its airs divine ; 
Once more my raptured senses seem 
As wrapt in an enchanted dream, 

Or lulled by drowsy wine. 



A FAIR UNDERSTANDING 

If to mankind a faith be essential, 
Lest a woeful fate should befall, 

Why then you '11 agree, it should equally be 
Intelligibly plain to all. 



AXNIE CASTELLIXI 595 



THE MOUNTAIN IRIS 

As I was ascending the side of a deep canyon, a snow-storm 
was raging at the top, thousands of feet above me. As the snow 
descended into the warmer atmosphere of the canyon, it was 
converted into rain, and wliipped into sheets of mist by the winds. 
The bright sun appearing, painted rainbow upon rainbow all 
over the opposite wall. Pilatus is a mountain near Lucerne, 
noted for its storms and beauty. Here Pontius Pilate retired 
in shame for the part he plaj'ed in the trial of Christ. It is 
said that his groans are still heard commingling with the roar 
of the tempests. 

I STOOD on the Mount Pilatus, 

Saw the drifting snow, sun-kissed. 
Transformed to crystalline tear-drops, 

Then shift to scintillant mist ; 
And the artist. Sun, perceiving 

The gossamer curtains fall. 
With his pencils of light, painted rainbows bright 

All over the mountain wall. 

Each heart has its mountain regions. 

Where frozen lie many tears. 
But touched with the kisses of kindness, 

To mists they change in the years ; 
And the artist, Love, perceiving 
Them drop and melt as they fall, 
With pencils that shine, paints rainbows divine 
All over the heart's hard wall. 

— Mt. Pilatus, September 13, 1904. 



ANNIE CASTELLINI 

Sweet Annie Castellini, of the old Milano to^vn. 

Again I see in memory your starlit eyes of brown ; 

Again I see them sparkle, their mischief-making glee. 

As in the old cathedral first you smiled so sweet on me ; 

You smiled so sweet on me, and I court'sicd low to you. 

Oh, sweet Annie Castellini, beats your heart still just as true 



390 re:mimscem' kiiymes a^d othee veksk 

Sweet Annie Castellini, how you biiglitened all my stay; 
How you cheered the friendless stranger upon his lonely way : 
Our thoughts they were so many, our w^ords so very few, 
And most of all my talking was making signs to you ; 
And you made signs to me, and I made signs to you, 
Oh, sw^eet Annie Castellini, are you still as fond and true? 

Ah ! sweet Annie Castellini, how I remember well. 
Your star-face beamed a love-light no words could ever tell; 
And your body breathed a passion that chained me with its thrill. 
And thus we spake in language that speaks in mem'ry still; 
And 't was thus 3"ou spake to me, and likewise I spake to you, 
Oh, sweet Annie Castellini, were those brown eyes speaking true ? 

Sweet Annie Castellini, you were fairest of the fair; 

The soft subduing sunset was threaded thro' your hair; 

There was glory in your person, and art in every grace, 

And a garden of exotics was pictured in your face; 

Yes, your cheeks were tinged with roses, your lips with coral hue: 

Oh, sweet Annie Castellini, thus I still remember you. 

Oh, sweet Annie Castellini, does your heart e'er give a bound, 
When you daily go to worship, and do you glance around 
To the old cathedral corner where was our trysting place. 
As if you half expected there to see an absent face? 
And do you dream of me, as oft-times I dream of you? 
Oh, sweet Annie Castellini, beats 3'our heart still just as true? 

Oh, sweet Annie Castellini, high up amid its towers, 

We roamed among the minarets in mellow moon-lit hours ; 

Now the ocean lies between us, and many, many miles, 

And ne'er again I '11 greet thee in the old cathedral aisles ; 

'T was a touch of death at parting, 't would be heaven to renew, 

Sweet Annie Castellini, all those golden hours with you. 

Oh, sweet Annie Castellini, of the land of love and wine, 

'T was thus you flit thro' my life, and thus I flit thro' tliine : 

And 't is thus in every nature and thus in every heart, 

There flit sweet gleams of passion, and as swiftly they depart; 

Love is fickle — ever roaming, tho' meaning to be true; 

Ah ! sweet Annie Castellini, how many loves have you ? 



VEKO^^A 3 (J 7 

Oh, sweet Annie Castellini, ours were not the loves that bless. 
But only mutual natures touched to sudden tenderness; 
Thus but few of all the roses we pluck that we admire; 
Thus a thousand love responses are born but to expire; 
But e'er in misty memory brightly lingers there a few,' 
And, sweet Annie Castellini, bright the vision still of you. 

Oh, sweet Annie Castellini, I am wondering to-dav, 
Have you a tawny lover, and do children round you play ? 
In every heart there sits enthroned one love supremely sweet, 
But the whole of love includeth the thousand incomplete; 
Thus unfulfilled in every life are loves like yours and mine 
Oh, sweet Annie Castellini, of the land of love and wine 



VEROA^A 



*T WAS a day in old Yerona, 

A day I '11 ne'er forget, 
Alone I stood and pondered 

At the tomb of Juliet ; 
My soul with tender pity stirred. 

Commingled with regret ; 
As my heart, with kindred iminilse. 

Filled with a love divine, 
I sudden felt the presence 

Of soft eyes seeking mine; 
As from some soul celestial. 

They seemed to glow and shine. 



Here. 



And turning round, beheld tl: 

Strange lighted orbs that shone 
As if the heart behind them 

A\"a.s searching for my own ; 
Had found some long-sought treasure 

It ne'er before had known; 
Transfixed with mutual wonder, 

Our conscious souls drew nigh 
And blent, as blends the ocean 

With the blue line of the sky; 
"With love that made it sweet to live 

And Just as sweet to die. 



398 KEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTIIEK TERSE 

Oh ! heart of hearts ! I 've found thee. 

At last, before this shrine. 
Where love in death reflecteth 

The death in love divine; 
By some sweet angel token, 

I know that thou art mine ; 
What spirit, oh ! my bright one. 

Led us together here? 
Converged our straying footsteps 

To this soul-haunted bier ? 
" 'T was slie," replied the maiden, 

"The Queen of Lovers, dear," 



''Whose presence and sweet spirit, 

'T is said, still haunt this place. 
Imparting to grieved lovers 

Her own celestial grace ; 
And bringing true affinities 

Together, face to face/^ 
She was just an English lassie, 

A traveler, as well, 
Who 'd wandered to this love-shrine 

To breathe its holy spell ; 
With Juliet's spirit to commune. 

And some heart secret tell. 



Bright the days in old Verona, 

That followed that glad hour; 
We wandered by old battlements^ 

Thro' castle, court, and tower. 
And daily came to Juliet's tomb. 

To feel her blessed power ; 
And as often there, our vows renew ; 

But strange we could not see, 
That all great loves, like theirs, like ours, 

Are linked with tragedy ; 
As blind were they to aught save love. 

Likewise, as blind were we. 



VEKONA 

For she was high and noble born, 

And soon a distance grew 
As wide betwixt our tortured souls. 

As lay betwixt those two — 
As feud betwixt fierce Capulet 

And fiery Montague. 
Oh ! curse the power of rank and pride. 

That measures honest worth, 
Not by the wealth of heart and brain. 

But by the chance of birth, 
Which, joined to soulless, sordid greed. 

Hath blighted love on earth. 

Oh ! those days in old Verona 

I never can forget, 
Nor my lost love that met me there 

At the tomb of Juliet ; 
But were it best all love be won. 

And never know regret? 
'T was "Verona" then I called her, 

"Verona" still to me. 
When the life immortal solveth 

Death's mighty mystery; 
When all the loves that gladdened life 

United then may be. 



Aye, a dream it is, some spirit bright 

Has o'er m}^ senses thrown, 
That every love that thrilled my soul. 

In Heaven I shall own; 
Be joined in one composite love. 

All bright loves I have known — 
Each body's grace united be 

Into a form divine. 
That something of each earthly shape 

I still may claim as mine; 
Unchanged alone Verona's face. 

And glory in it shine. 



399 



400 KEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



THE DUNGEON OF THE DOGE 

Note. — On the top floor of the Doge's palace were the torture 
rooms. In the basement below were the dungeons and execution 
place. Between these two places of horror there is not in all the 
world such a grand army of sacred art. Among the cells in the 
dungeon is one called "The Cell of the Doomed.'' In this the pris- 
oner next to be executed is confined. It is six by eight feet in size, 
with stone walls three feet in thickness. Tlirough this wall a hole 
eight inches in diameter affords the only ventilation. It had no fur- 
nishings whatever, the stone floor being the prisoner's only bed. To 
be in here is to be buried alive in utter silence and absolute darkness. 
Lord Byron remained in this cell all night for the impressions he 
might receive. The author was given permission to be locked in 
this cell for two hours, which was sufficient. I walked its narrow 
rounds many times. I stood at the hole, as many thousands had 
stood, to get a fresh breath. I did everything I thought a prisoner 
would do to content himself. I wliispered, sighed, moaned, groaned, 
and wildly shrieked to get the effect of uncanny sound. I invoked 
the spirits to appear and speak to me. I fancied I saw hundreds of 
decapitated heads appear in the gloom. Finally one was selected to 
tell his tale, which is given in this poem. The manner of execution 
is also faithfully given. Lord Byron wrote of Beautiful Venice by 
the Sea. Mine is a story of the heart, of dungeon gloom, anguish, 
despair, of liberty and human progress, all in contrast with the pic- 
tured and sacred glory directly above my head. 

I STOOD in Venice, in a dungeon old, 

Where the silence palls, and the daylight dies ; 
As I shook with the chill, and smelt its mold, 

I heard, or thought I heard, a world of sighs, 
Which soon to whispers grew^ ; then, a Ioav faint moan 

Upon the deathlike stillness rose and fell; 
And rose again; and deepened to a groan, 

Which burst, at length, into a frenzied yell. 

The very air seemed weighted down with pain; 

Without, a cat-like sentry paced the floor ; 
No other sound, save that of clank of cliain. 

Or canny creak of some far distant door ; 
Each startled thouglit, each sudden pang I felt, 

Of those whose ghostly voices pierced the gloom ; 
Who, here in mad'ning solitude had dwelt. 

Fearing, oft welcoming, their certain doom. 

"Poor, tortured spirits of the Doge's hate. 
Have I offended with this step of mine? 

Or do )^ou figh and moan to tell your fate 
To one who pity feels for woes like thine? 



THE DU:sGEOX OF THE DOGE 401 

Speak out ! thou one whose sufferings greatest are, 
And tell the secrets that torment thy breast; 

And I *11 proclaim thy story from afar ; 

Speak ! if 't will give thy vexed spirit rest/' 

Then from the stagnant shades there came a voice. 

That pictured high a lofty, manly head, 
(Of spirit, as of human tongues, the choice,) 

And these, to me, were the words it said: 
"Mortal ! hither drifted from some far shore. 

To spend an hour where misery hath reigned. 
And anguish, seldom known or felt before, — 

Fear not our ghostly speech, and be not pained 

"xit woes I now inflict upon thine ear; 

But patient heed, and kindly make them known 
To all the pitying world, that men may fear 

The doom of dungeon and the sway of throne. 
Proud ruler was I, o'er Candia's bright isle, 

"Where happy my people lived, and content. 
Till the cruel Dcge, with his greedy smile. 

Commanded allegiance and tribute sent. 

"Oh ! I fought him hard, and I fought him well. 

And victory crowned me many a time; 
But captive at last in his hands I fell, — 

The defense of country^ my only crime; 
My own sad story is the story of all 

Of the souls that have crossed the Bridge of Sighs ; 
Innocent or guilty, the dungeon wall 

Forever excluded the light from their eyes. 

"As each in his turn was condemned to die. 

He was shoved into this liorrible hole. 
Where through endless night, he would grieve and sigli, 

Or meditate on the hopes of his soul ; 
Thro' mad'ning silence we 'd grope in the dark, 

Or crouch in corners, or feel for the door, 
Or peer in the gloom in search of a spark. 

And vainly the mercy of God implore. 



402 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER YERSE 

'^Tho' utter silence, upon pain of death. 

On each was imposed hy the crnel guard, 
Yet, we would dare to sigh above our breath. 

And oft neither moan nor shriek retard; 
Thus would many invite their quicker doom ; 

(Peace! poor, tortured spirit-comrades of mine !) 
Ah ! these but the groans that once filled this gloom. 

By souls as innocent as e'er was thine. 

"Tho' life was dear, yet 't was oft a sweet sound 

When at last the headsman opened the door. 
And with help of the guard, our limbs they bound. 

And sewed us in sacks on the dungeon floor ; 
Then, out they 'd drag us, to a turn in the hall, 

AVhere a blessed candle lit the dim scene, 
And a crucifix hung on the grimy wall. 

And above swayed a secret guillotine. 

'^A cold, heartless prayer for mercy was read 

For our souls: mercy to us never shown; 
Then swift fell the axe, and our life-blood red 

Trickled down a deep groove, cut in the stone; 
Through a secret door our bodies were hurled, 

Down, a hundred feet, in the dunge'on well ; 
( Silence ! sad spirits, that still vex the world. 

While the rest of this grievous tale I tell). 

"Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! Time worketh many a change ! 

See ! the power and glory of Ducal might 
Hath passed into history, weird and strange, 

And decay toucheth all with withering blight ; 
High over our heads, thro' heaven's blue skies. 

The fleet sun is chasing the golden hours; 
But lovingly lingers till day-time dies 

'Eound the palace wall and St. Mark's towers. 

"And thro' the stained windows he pours his light 
On sacred canvas, and on polished stone; 

On pictures of saints amid angels bright. 
Attending the Doges upon their throne; 



THE DUNGEON OF THE DOGE 403 

And pictures of justice and pity rare, 

Depicting the heavenly, the pure and good ; 

The sweet Madonnas with faces so fair, 
And forgiving Christs in merciful mood. 

"And pictured oft the Samaritan scene. 

And paradises of celestial bliss ; 
God ! That only a floor should lie between 

That heaven of light and a hell like this; 
That Doges and Senates should kneel in praj^er. 

Invoking mercy ^mid splendors so bright, 
"While ^neath them, adown the long dungeon stair. 

Their headsmen labored with fiendish delight 

"Curses ! curses ! ever rest on ye all ! 

(Peace! thou turbulent spirits of gloom!) 
For crumbling is tower, and spreading is wall. 

And revengeful Time hath signalled their doom ; 
Fear not, gentle poet and lover of men. 

At shriek of these voices that pierce the dark : 
Thus oft we meet to rejoice in this den 

O'er the doom of the Doge, and the good St. Mark. 

"Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! Eevenge is sweet to the dead, 

Who 've suffered at hands of tyrannous might ; 
And we '11 haunt this gloom, where we starved and bled. 

Till heaven shall pierce it with golden light; 
See ! the Doge sits high on his throne no more; 

Priest and headsman come not now at his call ; 
And swaying is deep foundation and floor, 

And cracking and crumbling the painted wall. 

"O'er all their pride is the touch of decay ; 

Growing dim Tinoretto's great Paradise: 
The paint and the gold are mold'ring away, — 

No pale victim crosses the Bridge of Sighs ; 
Ah ! the fate of the Campanile 's their own : 

Sun and wave have said it, the die is cast ; 
Proud palace and tower and altar and throne 

Must descend to human level at last. 



404 KEMINISCENT KHYMES AKD OTHEK VEESE 

"Three cheers ! In chorus loud, join each severed head I 

Huzza., victims ! laugh ! shout ! awaken this hell ! 
See ! this mortal bold feareth not the dead, 

But rcjoiceth with us at Tyranny's knell." 
Then slow in the gloom faded each pale face. 

And again the silence fell like a pall ; 
"When out I crept from that horrible place. 

And joined the guide down the dim-lighted hall. 

— Venice, September, 1901. 



FAEEWELL TO YEXICE 

Wonderful conception ! Of human abode, 

None like to thee; first and last of thy kind: 

Among cities old, regally distinct; 

Of human achievement, the whole w^orld's pride. 

And when thou art no more, the whole world's loss ; 

Shrined sea-city of story and song; 

The poet's and the pilgrim's paradise ; 

Wave-walled, blue bounded, and star-charmed thy domes. 

Thy templed towers, and thy marbled magnificence. 

Beautiful tyrant ! Sacred despoiler. 

Whose chains once clanked over sceptercd nations ; 

Purple robed queen ! in whose covetous lap 

The exhaustless East poured her glittering gems 

In sparkling showers. Avenging Nemesis! 

AVho, fierce with fire and blood, made subject earth 

And sea, and proud historic record made 

Of daring, deathless deeds. Patron of art. 

Of printing, and old Tasso's glorious mu?e; 

Dictator stern of Europe's thrones, but still, 

Tlieir bulwark 'gainst the murd'rous Moslem hordes; 

Religion, war, and gain — thy Triune God, 

Who, in barbaric splendor — thou enshrined; 

Now, mediaeval and hoary grown with age. 

And lashed by ceaseless sweep of tide and time. 

No more thy galleys from far foreign shores. 

In bright array, o'er Adria's silver sea, 

Come weighted clown with wealth of mine and trade ; 



405 



THE TltlLMrH OF VIKTUE 

Ko more thy Charlemagnes and Doges great, 
Canovas, Titians, Cabots, and Polos, 
Survive to speak thy glory to the world ; 
O^er all the semblance of thy once proud power. 
Of state, church, war, and navigation bold. 
Decay hath settled like a funeral pall. 



Strange, mystical city! Long, long before 
I saw thy marble walls and licjuid streets, 
I loved thee for Desdemona, Antonio, 
And the love-mad Moor ; for sweet Shelley's song, — 
Tor Ruskin's jewelled speech, wrought from thy stones. 
And Byron's glowing verse and rhythmic art ; 
And having seen, long, long in mem'ry bright 
I '11 wander thro' thy crumbling shrines, and high 
Artistic halls; and oft, in dreams entranced. 
In mellow, moody, moon-lit hours, I '11 glide 
Along thy shadowy, shimmering sea. 
Oft on thy quaint Kialto note the crowds 
In mottled garb pass by ; and think mc' — here 
It was, that Chrisiians rude old Shy lock spurned. 
And spat upon his sacred gaberdine; 
Or slowly down thy Grand Canal, between 
Thy pillaged palaces, I '11 idly float, 
Or in the glim'ring light of phantom eve, 
Along thy templed courts, I '11 musing stray. 
Where still, as in triumphant days gone by. 
The winged lion with defiant glare 
O'erlooks thy vanished glory, pride, and might. 
As if in mockery of thy withered power. 
Bright dream of wave and moonlight — rare-thec^well. 
— Venice, September 20, 1904. 



THE TEIUMPH OF VIKTUE 

The trend of all good is toward virtue, 
This fact, e'en the dullest must own ; 

And perfectly virtuous all will become 
AVhen we cease to have flesh and bone. 



406 KEMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 



THE VENUS 

Could the Venus di Medici, most perfect of forms. 

To a. living shape turn in haste, 
All the women would say, in their jealous-like way, 

"She 's horribly big at the waist ;" 
But the men would declare, "From her toes to her hair. 
There 's naught they could see about her to spare f 

Any waste of her waist, would be in bad taste. 
And spoil a proportion, ^mong women most rare. 

— Uffizi Gallery, Florence, Sept. 23, 1904. 



ODE TO ITALY 

To MASTERS old, still loyal, true ; 
"While starving all the nobler new; 
Of modem progress, scarce a part — 
Old times, old men, old faith, old art. 
Eeligion, learning, painting, each 

An antiquated cult ; 
Eomance and myth thy standards still — 

Stagnation — the result ; 
Thy temples, monstrous, gloomy, vast — 
The charnel houses of Thought's past ; 
What now of glor}^ great is thine, 

That men may know ? 
A gaudy throne ! An idolatrous shrine ! 

A picture show ! 



Awake! Awake! 0, Italy! 

And stand head high among the free; 

^T was thou that wrought 

The death of thought — 
(This sad world's greatest tragedy), 
That plunged in ignorance, woe, and tears. 

Mankind — a thousand bloody years ; 
For thine owti honor, thine own sake, 
'*T is thine the restitution make. 



ODE TO ITALY 

Awake ! The world is marching by. 

Far leaving thee behind ; 
Not so, when Eome was all the world — 

Herself — of might and mind. 
Behooves thee now for thine own weal. 
Thy rich red Eoman blood reveal ; 
Again thy Gracchian spirit show. 
And soul of stainless Cicero ; 
With lofty courage emulate 
Unflinching Bruno's fiery fate ; 
Each son, a Garibaldi be^ — 
The incarnate soul of liberty. 

Awake ! Arise from thy bent knees. 
And burst the bonds of centuries; 
No longer guided be by fears. 
Shake off the rusts and dews of years ; 
Fill thou the molds which Nature cast, 
"WTien shaped she, great men of the past; 
Awake ! thou serfs of high descent, 
And of thyselves take measurement ; 
'Mid superstition, fast asleep. 
Dark as thy dungeons, and as deep, 

(Without a day), 
A few brave souls toward progress creep. 

And lead the way. 

Awake, Italians ! join the fight 
For reason, justice, truth, and right. 
^T is only these, when they combine, 

(Instead of King and priest). 
That constitute "The Right Divine,'' 
And lift thee 'bove the beast. 

Tlie right to know, 

The right to grow, 
And toil rewarded, onward go ; 

The riglit to earn. 

The right to learn. 
And toward a brighter future turn. 



407 



408 liEMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHEK VEKSE 

Awake ! sons of resistless sires. 
And liglit anew fair freedom's fires; 
Awalve ! thou sons of mighty Eome, 
And glory make again thy home ; 
Awake ! Awake ! A future grand 
Dawns o'er thy faith-cursed, smitten land. 

Thought stirred, hope thrilled, 

Is she, and filled 
Again with longing to command ; 
In spite of altar, sword, and throne, 
The brave will come unto their own. 

Aye, Freedom now fdls all the air; 

It creeps and twines 

Among thy vines, 
And ruined greatness everywhere ; 

Through dismal door 

Of wretched poor. 
Its angel touch awakes despair ; 

High on the walls 

Of royal halls, 
Strange speech it writes at intervals ; 

In gloomy cell. 

Where lone monks dwell, . 
It casts a faint awakening e^pell ; 

And clear and strong 

Its voice, in song. 
Dwells loudest in the templed throng ; 

With tongues of flame 

Its sacred name. 
Thy signal peaks to all proclaim ; 
'T is borne upon the mountain breeze. 
It wdiispers 'mong thy olive trees. 

And loudly roars 

Along the shores 
Of all thy many circling seas. 

Awake ! the she-wolf in thee howls — 

Men hunger to be free ; 
Arouse thee from thy cloistered dreams, 
And all thy soul enslaving themes, 



OF ALL OF THE BEAUTIFUL CITIES 409 

And mystic mummery ; 
Awake ! Awake ! thy shackles break, 
And like free men, undaunted, make 

The Italy to be. 



OF ALL OF THE BEAUTIFUL CITIES 

Of all of the beautiful cities 
That lie across the main, 
^'Which one/' I 'm asked, "was fairest. 

And you 'd choose to see again ? 
And which of all most charmed you, 
And which was most like home?" 
Ah ! that would reveal what m}' heart would conceal. 
But I frankly answer — Eome ! 
Xot for her iiiins olden. 

Thro' which I loved to rove; 
Xot for her temples golden, 
To Jesus and to Jove ; 
Xot for sacred shrine, nor for things divine, 

Xor treasured wealth of art, 
Xor for classic page of poet and sage. 
Doth Eome still hold my heart ; 
Xor for spectral ghosts of conquering hosts, 

That strut, in fanc}', by; 

Xor for arch and wall and column tall, 

Tliat only claim the eye; 

Aye, not for epochs historic, 

But for a lassie fair. 
Around whose face, exotic. 

Swept rifts of raven hair; 
Beneath whose bust's abundance 

Glowed fires of passion warm. 
And whose eyes beamed bright, like a Iioman niglit, 

"When planets lend tlieir charm ; 
AYhose voice was like the music 

Of a rippling sjdvan stream ; 
And form, the faultless image 

Of a sculptor's dazzled dream : 



41U KEMIl^ISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Aye, not for tomb, nor for catacomb, 

IN'or Coliseum hoary, 
Xor for gilded dome of templed Rome, 

Xor Xazarean story ; 
For of all of the beautiful cities 

Tliro^ which life's journeys lay, 
Those seemeth the best, where the heart finds rest. 

And we love along the way. 



THE GRA^-DEUR THAT IS ROME 

"The Glory that teas Greece, 
And the Grandeur that was Rome." 
— Edgar Allan Poe. 

I SIT in the flickering firelight, 

'Xeath the quiet spell of home, 
And again in fancy wander 

Thro' the grandeur that -was Rome ; 
Once again I tread the Forum, 

Where in ages long ago 
Trod the crafty, conq'ring Caesar, 

And declaimed great Cicero. 

Thro' the Baths of Caracalla, 

Lost in wonder, now I stray, 
Through the circling Coliseum, 

And down the Appian Way; 
The Palatine I next explore. 

The Catacombs I tlnead, 
Then stand within the Pantheon, 

Among the mighty dead. 

With immortal minds I mingle — 

With hero, sage, and muse ; 
Then, 'mong forests of white columns. 

Myself, in dreams, I lose; 
Spirit temples, arches, fountains. 

Rise before me in the gloam, 
Till, in seeming truth, I 'm standing 

Midst "tlie grandeur that irns Romo.' 



A LEGAL lOISlS FATUL'S 411 

Kow, a cloud of death and darkness 

O'er that glory seems to lower, 
And enthroned o'er all its splendors 

Springs a superstitious power ; 
Column, arch, and temple tumble. 

Men are moved by ghostly fears. 
Bead are progress, art, and learning. 

For a thousand bloody 3^ears. 

Shifts the hideous spectral vision. 

And a Renaissance — new birth. 
Like the sun from out of chaos 

Dawns upon the darkened earth ; 
For the freedom of opinion 

Men begin to speak and die; 
Daring dungeon, rack, and fagot. 

With defiant, fearless eye. 

Hail, thee ! Giordano Bruno ! 

Greatest martyr among m.en ; 
Hail ! Savonarola ! Galileo ! 

Hail, too, thy pyre and pen ; 
Which o'er all future ages 

The light of truth threw wide; 
Died the Saint for faith and dogma, 

But thou for Reason died. 

And to-day, o'er Eome, a glory 

Glows with greater light and power^ 
Than Pagan, Christian, ever knew. 

In their supremest hour; 
'T is the sun of Science gleaming 

High o'er ruin, cross and dome ; 
Reason, truth, and progress beaming- — 

The Grandeur that is Eome. 



A LEGAL IGNIS FATUUS 

No matter how firm our convictions. 
How we worship, admonish, and pray, 

A far better law we all of us preach 
Than we ever expect to obey. 



412 EEMIXISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER YEKSE 



THE FOEUM 

Here, where ended the pompons hnman stride 
Of the mightiest race of mortal man, 
I sit me down upon a fallen bust, 
The ruined visage of some god-like king. 
Or orator, or hoar immortal sage. 
To muse and ponder o'er the mighty scene, 
And mark the slow and quiet power of Time. 
Here stra}^, as when a school-boy, oft I dreamed. 
Oft wished, oft hoped that some fair day in life, 
I, too, might join the ever coursing throng- 
That to this shrine of glory wend their way; 
Here meditate, amid sepulchred pomp, 
"Which thro' dim centuries, hath e'er provoked 
The pen of sage, historian, and bard. 

Beautiful barbarism ! eloquent death ! 
By strength and virtue raised to high estate. 
By wealth and luxury turned back to waste — 
A lesson to all nations for all time. 
Here the architect built his shining soul 
Into polished column and dazzling dome; 
Made brick and mortar blossom into art, 
Wrought history and poetry from stone. 
Palace upon palace high he reared, 
Each serving as foundation for the new, 
Until they rose to towering terraced heights. 
Beyond wanton Fancy's power to paint — 
Until palace, temple, stadium, court, 
With stately rows of countless colonnades, 
And proud equestrian statues of great kings. 
And lofty halls, with marble miri'ors lined. 
Formed one great central heap. The Palatine. 
While from either side, and far all around. 
Fountain high-ways, and templed vistas stretched ; 
Temples to deities, diverse and strange. 
Reflecting every phase of human thought. 

The great Aurelian's temple to the Sun, 
To Castor, Pollux, Jupiter, Juno. 
Minerva, Venus, and such other gods, 
As men, in peaceful right, were free to serve. 



THE FORUM 418 

Miles upon miles of polished steps led up 

To lofty porticoes, whose columns vast, 

Of sculptured capitol, and flowery frieze. 

Like giant marble forests jutted out. 

And thickly graven on each smooth facade. 

Were mighty deeds of conquest and of w^ar; 

ITeroes of old, of forum and of fray, 

In animated marble, frowning stood 

In stately line, along each templed roof; 

Great fountains in the sunlight flashed or flung 

Their crystal columns into rainbow sprays ; 

In airy gardens rarest roses bloomed. 

And graceful vines draped over mountain walls; 

Fierce glared, conspicuous on every hand. 

From pillar, arch, and obelisk alid door. 

The brazen she-wolf, with her human cubs; 

In the farther distance, majestic reared 

Pantheon, Coliseum, and great baths. 

That were themselves, huge wonders of the world; 

While high and bright, o'er all this marble dream. 

Shone imperial Nero's House of Gold, 

Which "lodged him as," he said, "a man should be." 

!Methinks I see, in one great grand review. 

The pulsing life that stirred this heart of Rome ; 

Armies that glittered in victorious march, 

Before proud emperors and senates grave; 

Citizens, soldiers, slaves, and all the throngs, 

That long have passed to dark Oblivion's doom ; 

Methinks I see, also, those Suns of Thought, 

Who still rise bright above the modem dawn, 

And from the garnered riches of whose minds 

E'er pour the Past's incalculable hoard; 

Whose laws have served as models for all time. 

And whose philosophies will e'er remain 

Of universal human life a part. 

Methinks I see rise up and pass in view 

Aurelius and the murdered Cicero, 

The speech of whose god-like tongues fed Pome ; 

Horace, Ovid, Lucretius — muses sweet. 

Who down the soulful ages, float in song; 

Cajsar, Seneca, Tacitus, and all 

The mighty minds, whose fame along Time's floods, 



414 ke:miniscent khymes and othek verse 

Goes echoing evermore — whose deaths, alas ! 
With lack of men, like unto them born, 
Plunged Rome into a thousand years of gloom. 
Of Christian darkness, silence, and decay. 

"What flights of history sweep through my mind, 
As round I gaze on all these ruined piles ! 
Yonder within that Senate's crumbling heap. 
On feast of Lupercal, great CiEsar fell. 
I behold them bearing aloft his bier 
To this same spot, where now I musing sit. 
I see the noble Brutus rise and speak. 
And win the mob's approval of his course. 
As he gave answer for the bloody deed; 
That mob to vengeance and to fury turn. 
At artful Antony's keen, convincing tongue. 
Here noble, lofty thought rose soaring high. 
Or frenzied passion in wild words let loose ; 
Here Eienzi railed, Cato conquered foes. 
And fierce declaimed the fiery Cataline; 
Here Junius, o'er the chaste Lucrctia stormed. 
The proud Virginius his pure daughter slew. 
And Cincinnatus bade farewell to state. 
When war's high honors he had nobly won. 

Now through Time's rents September's sun shines sad, 

And pale moon-beams their spectral sliadows cast. 

In ghostly hours, along the columned row; 

Piled high, in mournful heaps, all scattered round. 

Lie fallen column, statue, architrave, and frieze ; 

Along these pillared shades no mighty voice 

Of orator resounds; no banners wave, 

'No chariots rumble loud, no pageant halts, 

Xo crowds acclaim, no kingly footsteps fall. 

I look around on all the might that was, 

Then tread this grave of glory with a sigh. 

That such magnificence should meet decay, 

Such monarchs of the mind should be no more; 

That all this splendor should succumb to thee. 

Lord of Desolation — unvanquished Time ! 

Thus, Time, stern Time — Prime Minister of Death, 

L^nbribed by friendship, wealth, affection, power, 



THE FUKUM 415 

Passeth over all; levelling great temples 
Low with the vile dust, and with ice-cold hand. 
Leading proud man into the chill labyrintli 
And the grim silence of the dark, damp grave. 

What, Eome, of all thy glory now remains, 

Besides these crumbling courts and shattered heaps ? 

Naught, naught save thought of ]3oet and of sage ; 

The voice of priest hath long been swallowed up 

By the hoary silence. Forgotten long 

The chant and praise to Vesta, Venus, Jove ! 

Aye, forgotten the very gods themselves. 

For in the courts of Nature's stern decrees, 

'T is fore-doomed that even the gods must die. 

Thus surely will it be with that proud power 
"Which superseded Pagan sway and thought; 
AYhicli first through persecution won its place. 
And then to persecutor turned itself; 
Crushed out the freedom it had clamored for. 
Exchanged the peaceful for a jealous God, 
And cast a cloud of darkness o'er the world. 
Upon the grave of Pagan glory throned, 
Thy temples built with marbles of thy foe. 
Thy rites but those of Jupiter and Jove — 
Thou, too, hast media3val and hoary grown, 
Great Terror midst the world's progressive marcli. 

Cold, cruel jailer of the human brain. 

Grim vivisector of each human nerve, 

With all thy kingly power, and rights divine, 

Thou could'st not stay the tide of human tliouglit; 

And so, art touched all over with decay, 

With blight and mold of centuries of sleep, 

And stagnant scum of motionless despair, 

The death awaiting all, waits sure for thee. 

The fate of Forum, Nineveh, and Tyrw. 

Of Balbec, Carthage, Thebes, will too be thine; 

And savants of dim ages, far remote, 

Will come, as now I see them here at work, 

x\nd dig among thy ruins and thy tombs, 

To find some date to add to history's page. 



416 KEMINISCEXT KHYMES AND OTlIKll YEKSIi 

Thought, deathless thought, alone with Time ahides; 

The sifted thought, from out men's hates and fears — 

The thought of use and beauty to mankind, 

No great thought worthy of the Past e'er dies ; 

All still is here, and lives through endless change ; 

AYorth more than empires each new thought born; 

AA^orth more than nations dead, each proven fact; 

And when all relics of old Eome are gone. 

And hid each footprint of her glorious march, 

Still Pagan thought — the thought of Eoman, Greek, 

Arab, Eg3'ptian, Persian, Hindoo, Jew, 

The full, ripe thought, gleaned from their many myths, 

Will live to bless and glorify the world. 

The Future, all illusions doth dispel. 

All human pomp, pretense, and rights divine, 

All superstitions, saviors, kings, and gods, 

And smashes every idol into dust; 

Thought, deathless thought, alone of all endures. 



THE BEAUTIFUL CLOUD 

I GAZED across the A'^esuvian bay, - 

And watched the great column arise, 
Of mingled smoke and ashes gray, 

Into far cerulean skies ; 
Slowly the black pillar turned to white. 

As it towered so high and proud, 
Till at last in crystalline realms of light 

It was lost in a beautiful cloud. 



I heard the loud rumblings of discontent. 

Saw the black smoke puff and roll. 
As if smitten earth to heaven had sent 

The cry of her tortured soul; 
And I thought of the tortured souls of men, 

The hot lava passions therein. 
And their own heart cries, up rising when 

Con"\aTlsed with the torments of sin. 



417 



AFTEK-GLOW 

A parent stood there with his idiot boy, 

Explaining the picture so grand, 
Endeavoring to give him some little jo}^ 

And to help him to understand ; 
The lad, too, gazed across the blue bay, 

(Poor fellow ! so feebly endowed) ; 
And pointed and grinned in his idiot way 

At the smoke and the beautiful cloud. 



AVill the mists, I asked, be cleared from his brain ? 

AVill a bright light illumine his eyes ? 
Will, some day, his reason return again, 

In the far-away crystalline skies? 
Both the hopes and sins of each heart that 's broke. 

And the love everlasting that 's vowed, 
"Will they all go up, like Vesuvius' smoke. 

And be lost in a Beautiful Cloud? 



AFTEE-GLOW 

I WATCHED the sun in his journey 

Over the crystal sea. 
Scattering his gleams of glory 

So lavishly and free ; 
Piercing the quick-chasing wavelets 

With darts of liquid fire. 
As up the hill of the morning 

He mounted higher and higher. 

Down the long slope of the evening 

lie took his golden flight. 
Growing large and ever larger, 

As he approached the night ; 
Then sank in the fields Elysian, 

Dimpling the sea with his beams, 
And fringing the purple cloudlets 

With gold and silver gleams. 



418 liEMl>vlSCENT KHYMKS AND OTliEli VEKSI-: 

But not all the glory of morning. 

Nor of evening sunset low, 
Compared with the radiant splendor 

Of his ling'ring after-g]ow; 
When all the tints of the Iris 

The pearly clouds enfold. 
And the star-lit seas of sapphire 

Blend with the skies of gold. 

Like the sun's, then, be thy journey 

In life's upward morning flight. 
Increasing ever in glory 

As you approach Death'?, night; 
And, like him, when fast descending 

Ever large and larger grow, 
Surpassing alL other splendors 

In a ling'ring After-glow. 
— On the Mediterranean, October 5, 1004. 



THE SHIP OF LIFE 

Oh ! a dangerous ship is the ship called Life, 

And fearful the waters it plows; 
"With their hidden rocks, and siren shores, 
And hurricane winds, and midnight roars. 

And the surges that sweep her prows ; 
We must know how to steer through the current strong, 
When the monsoons mutter the whole night long, 

And the demons of darkness rave; 
We must know how to list to the sirens' song, 
That fair on the beach in their nakedness throng. 

And their beauty and blandishments brave; 
So, be thou no Ulysses tied fast to the mast. 
But ever be free to contend with the blast. 

And the fierce, tempestuous wave: 
Aye, a dangerous ship is this ship called Life, 
For, even in calm, as in storm and strife. 

It floats o'er a yawning grave; 

A greedy, gluttonous grave, 

A dark and a fathomless grave. 

—Off the x\zores in a storm, Oct. 8, 1901. 



NOTHING OF THEM DOTH FADE 419 



NOTHING OF THEM DOTH FADE 

I STOOD by tlie grave of a poet. 

In the midst of mighty Eome, 
Wlio had died in his youthful promise. 

Far from his country and home ; 
Oppressed with disease, and heart-broken. 

Disappointed in ev'ry aim. 
He believed that only in water 

He 'd been able to write his name; 
"Let no other words be engraven, 

On my tombstone, when I am dead. 
Except — *Here lies one, who in water, 

Wrote only his name,' ^' he said. 

Nigh to his grave lay the ashes 

Of another bard who had died 
Far,' too, from his home and country. 

And in manhood's youthful pride; 
I stood and read the inscription, 

Which a brother poet had made, 
AVith prophetic fervor declaring 

That nothing of him shall fade; 
But forever through all the ages 

He will only suffer the change 
Of the sea's quick transformation 

Into something rich and strange. 

To-day, far out in mid-ocean. 

As I gazed on the changing sea, 
I thought of those youthful poets. 

And of their graves in Italy ; 
Oh! the sea is a thing of beauty, 

Which timic nor change doth destroy, 
And "Beauty 's a joy forever," 

Be it rich or strange in its joy; 
On each smooth surface there written. 

The name of Keats I could trace. 
And on each changing wave engraven 

Was Shellev's beautiful face. 



420 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

Xor writing nor picture was fading. 

But only sulTering a change. 
As the sea with its light and shadows 

Turned to colors rich and strange, — 
To crimson, purple, and sapphire. 

Blent with the sun's silver beams. 
Their loveliness ever increasing. 

Like a sleep full of sweet dreams: 
Rest in peace ! Poet soul of Beauty ! 

And who Freedom's standard unfurled, 
Tho' your names be written in water. 

They are written around the world. 

—In Mid-Atlantic, October 11, 1901. 



THE GEAXDLY GEEAT 

'T IS only from the distance that great men large appear, 
E'en as Cologne's Cathedral, from the distance, hangs in air, 
With the city clustering lowly around its mighty feet. 
Even so the common masses gather round the grandly great. 

Cologne, September 10, 1901. 



THE DEEPEK WATERS 

The storm which curls the sea's bright lips and tips their crests 

with white. 
The deeper waters stirs below and lifts them to the light; 
So, when the storms of sorrow sweep across tlie saddened soul, 
Its hidden splendors spring to sight, and in pure whiteness roll. 
—On the Mediterranean, October 3, 1904. 



COXSPICUOUS BY HER ABSENCE 

There 's ne'er a man that ever lives 
But mothered first must be; 

But, motherless and daughterless. 
He makes his Trinity; 

Since she, at least, is lialf the race, 

'T would seem she might have had a place, 



THE ISLES OF THE SOUL 



THE ISLES OF THE SOUL 

Come, spirit boatman, pilot me 
Thro' liquid leagues far o'er the sea ; 
Again in dreams my soul convey, 
To strands that beckon me alway ; 
Where sunny summer constant smiles, 
And ocean sleeps round foamless isles, 
AVhose purple peaks, in skies remote, 
Like charmed dream-worlds seem to float; 
Or hang like mystic islands there. 
Above the clouds in azure air : 
Where caverns in blue twilight sleep. 
Whose star-domes rival midnight's deep, 
And mirrored depths reflect the hue 
Of starry dome and twilight blue; 
Where aurorian clouds the peaks enfold, 
In auburn sheen and dawning gold; 
Or, in fleecy mantles, softly fall 
And drape the somber mountain wall ; 
AATiere color gay, the sylphid queen, 
Arrays herself in gorgeous green. 
In blues that change with changing day, 
And wonder shades of mellowed grey; 
While sky and sea spread clear and fair. 
And blend them with the opal air. 

Again in dreams my senses float 
Around those charmed isles remote: 
'Eound Ocean's prides — the blue Azores — 
And Ischia's cliffs and coral shore? ; 
Again from Capri's mountain brim. 
In raptured light, my senses swim ; 
Again the glowing morning sun 
Renews his splendors one by one; 
Again he mounts the zenith high. 
And jewels all the earth and sky; 
When to his curtained couch h.e sinks, 
Together, with himself, he links 
Both purple sky and purple sea, 
In one entrancing trinity ; — 



421 



422 keminisce:st rhymes and othek vekse 

Then, glancing backward 'neath its fold, 
He streaks the sea with shimmering gold; 
In his bright path the sea-bird dips, 
And 'cross it sail the many ships, 
Some speeding toward the harbor's light. 
And others far out in the night. 

Again, upon the soulful surge, 
The f atliomed dead send up their dirge : 
Again the moon-beams creep and shine 
O'er terraced heights of fig and vine; ' 
Again the glimpsing stars above 
Announce the hours of tryst and love. 
And distant notes of the guitar 
Eeveal where wandering wooers are; 
Again, amid this mystic play. 
Of mountain, sea, and night and day. 
Of moon and star, and sun and sky, 
I could be reconciled to die; 
My eyes entranced with liquid light. 
My soul en^Tapt with beauty bright — 
Sweet Nature ! Here let fall on me 
The silence of eternity. 



My soul hath many mystic isles. 
Whose beauty e'er my brain beguiles; 
Far, far away they lie from me. 
Beyond this life's tempestuous sea; 
Beyond its storms, beyond its tides, 
AYhere better self serene abides; 
Enchanted realms, whose dazzling heights 
Are only climbed by Fancy's flights; 
Whose star-domed chambers, magic wrought. 
Are treasure vaults of glowing thought; 
Whose sunsets, da^vns, and crystal seas 
Are bright abodes of harmonies; 
Where justice, truth, and freedom fair, 
With love, sway every conscience there ; 
Free from the ignorance that blinds, 
Misjudgments, spites of petty minds. 



LET WELL ENOUGH ALONE 

Free from tlie faults that fret this life, 
Free from its dross and hates and strife. 
That prisons most of me that 's bright. 
And my better being hides from sight, — 
Come, spirit boatman, pilot me 
To those far isles in Fancy's sea, 
Beyond this life's tempestuous tides. 
Where better self serene abides. 



423 



NONE GOOD 

There 's none so noble, wise, or bright. 

There 's none who 've mounted Honor's height. 

Or who for Heaven strives. 
Can bear to have too strong a light 
Expose to view what 's hid from sight, 
In the corners of their lives ; 
In the small, secluded corners 

Of their seeming saintly lives; 
Aye, there 's even much concealed by pride 
In the very hides of the sanctified. 



LET WELL ENOUGH ALONE 

AYhen Gabriel comes a tootin' 

His resurrection horn. 
An' the angels all are shoutin' 

"Rise, sinners ! Be new-born. 
An' take your place at judgment. 

To be classed as chaff or corn ;" 
But, knowin' that most likely 

On sulphur soup you '11 sup, 
You 're a goose's biggest goslin' 

If ever you get up ; 
With the odds so great against ye. 

He is wisest, all must own. 
Who, tho' dead, still has the gumption 

To leave well enough alone. 



26 



SHORT POEMS 

THE GENIUS OF SCIENCE 

All hail ! to the genius of science, which the forces of nature 

release. 
Which terrify men and nations to yield to the powers of peace; 
All hail ! to the genius of science, the savior of nations and men, 
That rallies the ranks of reason, and surrenders the sword to 

the pen. 



EF I WUZ STAETIN' A RELIGION 

Ef I WUZ startin' a religion, it never should begin 

By blamin' lovely woman ez the cause o' all our sin ; 

'Pears 'at I could look around me, an' some other critter iind, 

Ter put the blame o' sufferin' on all o' human kind; 

But ef chance I could n't find it, no religion I 'd commence. 

But 'ould trust to human gallantry, an' good old common sense. 



CHRISTIAN SCIENCE 

Among registered religions, chief Iwbrid of the breeds; 
Neither Christian, neither Science, the hermaphrodite of creeds ; 
For science deals alone with facts, as nature gives us proofs, 
And nothing has to do with gods, nor de'ils with horns and 

hoofs ; 
Nor with questions of salvation, nor with cures of mystic kind. 
Nor delusions, nor illusions, nor confusions of the mind; 
A contradiction plain of terms, as all not blind can see — 
A charcoal blonde or white blackbird as reasonable would be; 
Or a peaceful war, a pleasant pain, a blissful happy grief, 
A healthy sore, a truthful liar, or a strictly honest thief; 
As muchly a misnomer as a dead tree growing figs, 
Or pigs unknown in Guinea, which are anything but pigs; 
Sure, Science joined to Spookdom, will e'er remain a wonder, 
As great as a tempestuous calm, or e'en as noiseless thunder, 

424 



SHOKT POEMS 425 

THE FIDELITY OF GENIUS 

As THE birds are made for flying, the brooks run to the sea, 
So moves each being onward as his thoughts flow far and free. 
And to himself is truthful, tho' with him none agree; 
But ne'er is grace so lovely, nor hath duty e'er a charm. 
Like unrewarded genius plodding on thro' sun and storm, 
Fixed and faithful to his purpose, tho' good befall or harm ; 
For whom, thro' days of hunger, and the sacrificing years. 
No glad throngs shout his homage, no approving word lie hears, 
Nor for whom e'er waves a banner, midst music sweet that cheers. 



THE HUMAN EUSH 

We 're all rushing upward to life's resplendent height. 

Hurrying and scurrying to be first to view the sight; 

Then downward we go speeding to the bottom of the hill. 

Not because we want to, but much against our will. 

And because old Time and Terra won't stand still. 

Oh ! it 's hurry, scurry, worry, be it up or be it down. 

Ever chasing fickle fortune, or a pitiful renown; 

But the wisest oft are slowest in getting in the crush, 

For soon enough we'll bump the bumps, without an extra rush; 

And the little thunder that we raise will rumble to a hush. 



BEAUTY BLIND 

With beauty round them everjwliere. 
Indifferent, blind, men gape and stare. 
Observing ne'er a flower fair. 

For simply want of thought; 
Upon the starry skies they gaze. 
With ne'er a wonder at their blaze. 

As if the stars were not; 
If only men could Beauty see. 
In all her charmed variety, 

'T would soften most of sadness ; 
And health and plenty, love and mirth, 
Would take the place of care on earth, 

And fill it full of ffladness. 



-426 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

DIPLOMATIC DIVINITY 

There 's naught to which the faithful cling, 

Like mystery and fable; 
But when the truth ^s made plain to men. 
And most accept — quick to it then, 

They haste to put their label. 



PEOVERBIAL PLENTY 

With proverbs sufficient this world is filled, 

(Sage, serious, and melancholy). 
To last human-kind for all time to come — 
E'en to produce an immediate millennium — 
But, strange to say, they^^e never yet killed 
One single human folly. 



IMPARTIAL TIME 

For verse like mine there wait in line 

Ten thousand to condemn; 
But should a few find merit true, 
(For merit slowly comes to view) 
And pusli it on, when they are gone. 

Why give three raps for them ? 
There 's but one test for worthy rhyme. 
And that 's impartial, patient time. 



TOLERANCE 

Just as king and priest are finally forced 

To rule by moderation ; 
'T is then you may see, accordingly. 

Some show of toleration ; 
For tolerance ne'er doth mark the power 

Of royalty or religion: — 
'T is the fatal sign of their decline. 

And rush for the River Stygian. 



SilOKT POKMS 427 

WHEN THE SOUL SPEAKS TO NATUKE 

"When the soul speaks to Nature face to face. 

And Nature speaks to the soul, 
There ne'er was a worship, nor e'er a grace. 

So lovely, complete, and whole; 
What art thou, Nature, but the infinite Power," 

That ever speaketh through thee? 
That liveth and loveth in thee each hour, 

And that liveth and loveth in me? 



SEEING AS WELL AS BELIEVING 

All men w^ould miracles believe, 

If — plain to every eye — 
A priest on stormy waves would walk, 
Or asses generally would talk. 

Or stuif ed birds up and fly ; 
Or, quail on toast each day should rain 

Eight down from out the sky. 
If — statues still would weep and wink. 

And paintings pale w^ould blush. 
And brazen images would sweat, 
. And fountains dry would gush ; 
If — wonders done by gods and men. 

In distant days benighted. 
Could still be seen as well as then. 

By thinking men united — 
But— now so much of doubt exists. 

Of old faiths and the new. 
It clear behooves each Church's Head, 
The Popes and Primates, in Christ's stead. 
To tal^e their places 'mong the dead. 

And prove their wonders true ; 
They, ranking chief among the blest. 
Should willing be to make the test ; 
If miracles, then, they would maintain, 

(Faith clearly points the way). 
Let each of them be crucified, 

And rise on the third dav. 



428 liEM12<lSCENT RHYMES AND OTHEli A'KKSK 



DISAPPEOYAL 



This one ambition ]et me have. 
And keep it e'er in sight: 

To deserve the disapproval 
Of the enemies of right ; 

And ever of the brave and free. 

Have their respect and sympathy. 



ORIGINALITY 

The thinkers great who bound aliead, 

And others far outrun, 
AVill followers have — perhaps a few — 

And possibly not one; 
Aye, from the common herd apart. 

Estranged, must wander lie 
Who seeks a new and untried trail 
That leads into the misty vale 

Of originality. 



A MYSTERIOUS PROYIDENCE 

Hov\r can it be this world was planned 
With wretchedness on every hand. 

By a Power wise and good ? 
For, clear it seems to human eyes. 
That Wisdom could plan otherwise. 

And Goodness surelv tuould. 



THE IMMOVABLE 

Who are not free to think and speak. 

Who are not free to stray. 
Can ne'er be free new paths to seek, 
That upward lead to some high peak, 

Where longest shines the day ; 
Not with the strong but with the weak, 

Must thev remain alwav. 



SHOliT POEMS 429 

EASY COMES, EASY GOES 

The best thing may be said about mone}^ — 

It weakens as well as makes strong; 
By earning it, men merit it; 
But they who only inherit it 
Are little inclined to the care of it, 

So, keep it pushing along. 
As it easy comes, it easy goes. 
And back to its common level flows. 



A POINTER 

There '*s not a problem in this life 
like that of making choice of wife ; 
In no one woman will you find 
The good and graces all combined ; 
No matter what may be her charms. 
Of face, or bust, or legs, or arms, 

How modest, sweet, or gay; 
All these we may, or not, suppose. 
But first be certain that her nose- 

Is turned the other wav. 



THE DIRTY WORK 

There 's much o' work all men 'ould sliirk. 

But some one has to do it ; 
AYlio, then, when Brotherhood has come, 
(For dirty work must still be done), 

Will cheerfully come to it? 
The answer's surely plain enough, — 
For work which you regard too tougli, 
Jes' give men what they ought to get — 
What you would want, an' then you bet, 

There '11 be willing workers woo it. 
Jes' pay what's fair, an' then for hands 

You '11 never have to holler : 
For ne'er was equal king's commands 

To the Almiglity Dollar. 



430 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHEli VEKSE 

SELF-DECEPTIOIS' 

For freedom all societ}^ stands, , 

Content without being free; 
And virtuous^ too, mankind would appear. 
And truthful, honest, frank, and sincere. 

Without pretending to be. 
Aye, knowledge of which we nothing can know. 
As absolute facts, by faith, we show. 

For a dead-sure certainty; 
And the childish myths of remotest date. 
Age after age we perpetuate — 

Still grown-up children are we. 
That mind which closely the human scans. 

And deep in its own doing delves, 
Will find we're spending full half of our time 

In cheating and fooling ourselves. 



THE IMMORTAL ACT 

For what should men wish to conquer the Avorld ?' 

Surely not to enthrone a king, 
ISTor exalt faith and dogma over thouglit. 

But for a grander, nobler thing; 
The highest wish the mind can engage, — 

The immortal conquering act, — 
Is to originate a new idea. 

And proW' it to be a fact. 



MENTAL MINIMUM 

So MUCH on others we rely — 

Accustomed so from youtli, — 
Much easier to a faith assume. 

Than demonstrate its truth ; 
And so, content with blind belief 

The most of men become. 
Because the effort and the strain 
Of earnest exercise of brain 

Is kept at minimum. 



SHORT rOKMS 

THE BOSS UNIVERSAL 

All people make their particular God, 
And put in his hands a chastening rod, 
Then bend their backs and a scourging take 
From the very hands their own hands make; 
On a jewelled throne they place a king, 
And bow and scrape to the gilt-laced thing. 
Then to war they go, and fight and die. 
Thus, the thing they make, to glorify. 
So, be it a Caesar, Jehovah, or Joss, 
This boobv old world must have its Boss. 



4:iM 



THE CHARACTER KILLER 

Into the heart and life of a mighty oak 

A parasite wormed its way. 
And the giant form, rooted deep and strong, 
With its green-robed limbs that reached so long, 

Withered and fell one day ; 
So the scandal-mongers that creep among 
The good and the great, with envious tongue 

Their many thousands slay. 
With the poisonous virus of little white lies 
They viciously sting a heart till it dies. 

Then laugh, as children at play. 
Oh ! of all vile creatures, despised and accurst, 
The character-killer is the very worst; 
Of some use the maggot and buzzard may be. 
But ne'er an excuse for existence has he. 



THE ROCK OF TRUTH 

As THE perfect form is at last set free 
From the marble that hid it so long, 

So blasted and chiseled must be the truth 
E'er 't is recognized from the wrong ; 

For truth is a rock that only reveals 

Its beauty to him who fashions and feels. 



432 



KEMINISCENT KHYMKS AND OTHER VEKSK 

A RULE THAT WORKS TWO WAYS 

The richest of men can never enjo}^ 

A body and mind that^s sound. 
Save as labor hard and abstinence 

Are rules to which he^s bound; 
Save as appetite he firm denies. 

And lives from luxury free; 
Yet, strange to sa3^ the same plain way 

Is distressing to poverty. 



WHERE THE WAVE BILLOWS FREE 

As THE banks and shoals of the sandy shore 

Are the resting place of fogs, 
So the superstitions of men arise 

From the mind^s low levels and bogs ; 
But far, far out where the bounding wave. 

Unchained, is billowing free. 
As clear as a crystal shines the sky. 

And as scintillant swells the sea. 



HOW CHARMINGLY SWEET XATURE HIDES 

How charmingly sweet Nature hides 

The wrinkles of her face; 
How cunningly her creviced sides 

She drapes with mossy lace; 
Drapes fair with flower, vine, and tree. 
And sunny smiles, the sloping lea. 

And every barren place ; 
Likewise should we, as cunningly, 

The lines of time conceal ; 
Keep young the heart and bright the eye. 
And smooth the brow as June's clear sky. 

And warm the mind with zeal ; 
And sunny tempered, tho' our lot 

Be one of woe or weal. 
Let ours with Nature's ways be cast, 
Still bright with beauty to the last. 



SllOKT rOEMS 

BEAUTY THE BASIS OF LIFE 

Ah ! better to live in a cottage. 

And astonished at castles be, 
Than live in the grandest castle 

And no wonder in nature see — 

No beauty in nature see : 
Aye, be it a castle, or be it a cot, 
Or be it neither — a beggar's lot. 

Let beauty be first with me ; 
Be it friendship, love, or fame, or duty. 
All things of worth must follow beauty. 

The borrowers of beauty be. 



488 



LOVE, THE FICKLE 

Love is wayward, love is merry. 

Love 's invariably contrary ; 

Seldom seeks the right direction. 

Seldom makes a wise selection ; 

Helpless most in self defense, 

A stranger e'er to common sense. 

Most moved by that which charms the eye, 

Will sell itself and titles buy ; 

So fickle, none can help but doubt it. 

But — who would want to live without it. 



THE EVERY DAY FIGHT 

If it 's war you want, and war must have. 

And a hero be in song, 
Youjcan show what you are by going to war. 

At once, with hate and wrong. 
If 3^our brave heart fill with desire to kill, 

Eush in and falsehood slay ; 
Tlie soldier true will the wrong pursue, — 

True heroes fight every day ; 
For virtue they stand, and for truth and right, 
Nor wait they to kill when they want to fight. 



434 KEMIXISCENT KIIYMES AND OTIIKK VKKSK 

SEEKIXG THE WASTE PLACES 

As THE water that flowetli hidden 

Down under the barren ground 
Maketh the bushes to blossom. 

And the grasses green all 'round, 
So the good that we do in secret. 

That hidden we may impart, 
Will, all unseen, waste places green 

In many a sorrowing heart. 



THE TEST OF TEOUBLE 

With a certain measure of sorrow and pain. 
You may as well make up your mind, 

You '11 meet each day, 'long the whole of life's way, 
And vexations of many kind; 

But troubles, surmounted, insure success. 

And wise is he who ne'er lets distress 
Destroy his hopes and his cheerfulness. 



PERIODICAL PIETY- 

The grass ne'er stops its gi-owing, 

Xor stays the ocean tide; 
Xor fountains cease their flowing, 

'Nov rivers seaward glide; 
The heavens ne'er are idle. 

The suns ne'er stop nor swerve ; 
The winds you can not bridle, 

Xo days do they observe; 
The stars ne'er take vacation, 

Nor rest them in their course; 
No sacred avocation, 

Or holidays, has force ; 
But when we, one day in seven. 

To idleness apply, 
We suppose that we are pious, 

And so fill up on pie. 



SHORT POEMS 

THE PEOGEESSIVE MIND 

The nature endowed with reason large 

The truth will e'er try to detect ; 
And while suspicious of other thought. 

More oft its own will suspect ; 
The truth of its own convictions 't will doubt. 

Knowing that beyond each mind 
Lie worlds of undiscovered researcli. 

To which all our lives we're blind. 
Conscious each faith and custom and thought 

Are in a progressive stage. 
And the truth, to live, must prove itself 

By the learning of each age ; 
Conscious the narrow horizon of self 

Is not that of the star-spaced sky, 
Where beyond our view, in realms remote, 

A million horizons lie. 



435 



THE FEARLESS SOTJL 

What care I for the frown of wealth, 

And for all its pomp and show ? 
Eor I have my independence, 

And I 'm the richest man I know ; 
What care I for the edicts of men. 

For custom and thought moss-grown ? 
For them why care, when I 'm free to dare, 

And my fearless soul 's my own ? 



HITCH ON 



You can never again recall the years, 
The past it is dead and gone: 

All you now can do is to dry your tears, 

And face the future witli all of its fears. 
And to that which is left, hitch on ; 

The sun most glorious at sunset appears, 
To his glittering car, hitch on. 



436 REMINISCENT RHYMES AIs^D OTHER VERSE 

AGITATION 

They say that madness side by side 
With genius great is close allied; 
Be as it may, there 's naught that 's grand, 
Naught born to govern or command. 

But comes thro' agitation; 
'T is the fearless thought that hard is hurled 
Against the sluggish, slumbering world. 

That saves it from stagnation. 
Those thoughts that down the ages roll 
Flash fervid from the flaming soul. 



* TRUE HOMAGE 

Whatever be the Eternal Power, 
It claims our homage every hour. 

For life and mind and loving ; 
But not till gods and devils are gone. 
And heavens and hells are overthrown. 
Will mankind live for man alone. 

Our homage truly proving. 



NATUEE'S W^AY 

With the blessing of health, and a start toward wealth. 

And good prospects at every turn. 
And with pain in control, the thing we call soul 

Becometh our least concern. 
The man independent, joyous, and free. 
For the fate of his soul, what careth he? 
And this is the way, it seemeth to me. 
That Nature intended this life to be; 
From the thought of death she makes us to shrink, 
Of the soul as well, not even to think; 
But to live the few brief seasons out. 
With never a future to worry about; 
Since this is plainly Nature's wa}^ — 
Her normal, healthy, happy wa}^, — 
Why agonize and grieve and pray ? 



SHOliT POEMS 437 

"THE UPWARD LOOK AND THE LIGHT'^ 

Ne'er good it is to see the streams of tears that we shall meet. 
Nor the stony j^aths o'er which must trudge our weary, bleeding 

feet ; 
But upward, ever onward, should our gaze be fixed afar, 
To the sun upon the mountain, or its guardian spirit star. 



THE FINEK FEW 

Blindly the masses move onward, plotting each other to beat. 
Always preferring the near success to the dreaded, far defeat; 
But forever forward sweet nature urges the few to press, 
Unmindful of the near defeat, for the gain of the far success; 
Aye, 't is onl}'' to the higher and finer soul 
'T is given to work for the good of the whole. 
To beautify, better, and bless. 



PAGANISM 



The marvel of all that was grand and great. 

Magnificent and sublime; 
The exhaustion of genius, perfection of state. 
The despair of the ages to imitate. 

Epoch triumphant of time. 



THE TKUE GLOPY 

Aye, truly, there's objects far higher in life 

Than wealth or social renown ; 
To the ancient Greek 'twas glory enough 

Just to merit the laurel crown. 
The gold we pile up, no fame can secure ; 
The honors of hero but seldom endure, 

'T is genius alone that 's supernal ; 
But transient the good over which we rave. 
End prayer and praise and pride at the grave; 

The truths we bequeath are eternal. 



438 REMINISCENT KHYMES AND OTHER TERSE 

TO THE IMPATIENT EEFOEMEK 

Fret not, impatient, eager soul. 

At kingly rule and ^=^vay ; 
Fret not at superstition's hold. 

No night but creeps to day. 
Controlled and governed by tbie dead. 
The ignorant multitudes are led. 

Slow see they a new way; 
But, ever just a step ahead 
Of stupid faiths — with stately tread — 

March thought and liberty ; 
Aye, faster spread they toward the light. 
Than e'er the foes of truth can smite; 
So, fret not at the seeming might 

Of mystic mummery; 
Eage not at autocratic power. 
And priestly pomp ; they have their hour ; 

'T is best to patient be; 
By gentle Emersonian ways. 
Upon thee, fix men's wondering gaze; 
Thus loftily live out thy days, 

Triumphant, calm, and free. 



THE CITY EOOFS 

Oh, the city roofs ! The city roofs ! 

That stretch so far below; 

So somber and far below; 
^Vliat strife for life beneath you each day 

Goes w^earily on, and woe! 
.What bitter tears thou hast hidden for years. 

And which never cease their flow ! 
Oh ! shut from my eyes all the pain that lies 
Under the roofs, which are the only skies 

Many sad hearts ever know; 

Oh ! the sin, the crime, and the woe ! 

The weariness, want, and the woe! 
So sorrows my soul, hide from me the proofs. 
Of the breaking hearts down under the roofs. 



SHOKT POEMS 

THE MEN OF FAITH 

Who are the men of real faith ? 
ISTot they who blind believe, 
Xor who themselves deceive. 
And to nothing different own ; 
Bnt rather they who freely stray. 
Who blaze for all a brighter wa}^. 
Who more would know than yesterday. 
And some new truth make known. 



439 



THE SELF-SATISFIED 

Such large respect some have for self. 

So much conceit and gall, 
So much in their own worth believe 
That others wholly they relieve 

Of respecting tliem at all. 



RECOGNITION OF NOBILITY 

The pearl turns red when near to the rose. 

But never the rose to white ; 
So 't is only the noble that recognize 
In others their higher qualities, 

And take on themselves their lio^ht. 



THE DISCOVEKY OF SELF 

Within the mystic realms of mind, 

Tho' be ye low or high, 
Great continents of character 

E'er undiscovered lie; 
Where stretch great mountain cliains of thought. 

And streams of goodness roll ; 
Oh ! blest be he, whoe'er he be, 
Who acts, in all sincerity, 

The Columbus to his soul. 
27 



440 REMINISCENT ilHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

THE MAEKSMAN 

Who shoot their best may sometimes miss 

The mark at which they aim ; 
But he who never shoots at all 
Will never see a foeman fall. 
Nor bag a brace of game. 



THE DIVINE MOTIVE 

A THOUSAND motives for a God 

And a future life we find : 
But most of all these motives sweet 
Is that love again will meet and greet. 
The incomplete be made complete. 

And e'er expand the mind. 



A COMMON SCARCITY 

Of men there's never a scarcity 

For their country to fight and die; 
But who, their honest taxes will pay. 
And vote in an independent way, ' 
And freely think, and say their say. 
Well — you '11 look for many and many a day 
E'er ten in a bunch you '11 spy. 



THE GENEROUS SPIRIT 

There 's folks who are busy day by day. 
Giving the Kingdom of Heaven away, 

Jes' scatterin' it all 'round; 
Great strips along the golden shore, 
A billion palaces or more, 

That everywhere abound ; 
Good folks who 're honest and sincere, 
But incapable of earning here 

Ten acres of poor ground. 



SHORT POEMS 



ONE SWEET WISH 



Ul 



Sweet longings fill my heart each day, 

Sweet wishes that I smother ; 
Could one be granted of them all, 

Jnst one more than another, 
'T would be this wish that comes to me. 
As oft the hovelled poor I see. 

Despairing, sick, alone — 
That all the downcast from their birth. 
Who 've dreamed of honor, greatness, worth. 
Should liave at least on this bright earth 

A sweet home of their own. 



SCIENCE 



There are teachings which, like the fire-fly, 

Require the darkness to shine ; 
But there ^s one, like the sun in tlie noon-sky. 
Of a scintillant, crystalline June sky, 

The darkness cannot confine; 
'T is the all-searching sun of science. 

Dispelling the darkness of doom ; 
That, ever with truth in compliance. 
To error and myth bids defiance, 

And glows independent of gloom. 



TRUE PRAISE 

When truly wise folks fail to give 

Approval of our verse, 
'T is bad; but when the fools declare 
It is the best found anywhere. 

Naught said could be much worse; 
When foes extol, we know their praise 

Is true, because extorted ; 
But less than half from other source 

Should ever be reported : 
True praise, like gold, should valued be, 
According to its scarcity. 



442 kemi:nisce>jt rhymes ■A^D other yekse 

THE GROVELLEK 

AVhat act immoral more ma}^ be. 

What degeneracy so great, 
As to plot and lie and compromise 

In the interests of Church or State ? 
How grovelling, low, that man of faith. 

That exemplar of right and good, 
Who splits his words lest they too well 

Be heard and understood ; 
AVho stifles truth, dwarfs the brain of tlie child. 

And levelled keeps souls with the clod ; 
Oh ! why should men scheme, pretend, or evade, 

Eor even the cause of a God? 



SOME DOGS 

Some dogs are moral, noble, and kind. 
Without fear of hell, or hope of heaven; 
AVere all men as good as tlie best of dogs.. 
Or even half as good as some hogs. 
There 'd be fewer rascals in sacred togs. 
And morals among professors we 'd find, 
Perhaps one in ten or eleven. 



THE MIGHT OF MYSTERY 

Would Persia's king, that fatal day. 

Been terrified at all. 
Could he have seen the "hand'' that threw 

That writing on the wall ? 
Could he the simple trick have known, 
(So very common now 't is done). 

Of writing on the wall ? 
Would men be tricked into beliefs 

To-day, if they could see 
The potent force in every fear. 
And faith, which they regard so dear, 
Lives not in fact, made plain and clear, 

But in dark mystery? 



SHORT POEMS 443 

COMMERCIAL REVELx\.T10X 

"Who for the unknowable is willing to pay, 

AVill soon find a rascal who knows it ; 
VTiw, even Infinity will plainly portray. 
And time beyond time make clear as tlie day, 
(Kem ember, 'tis all a matter of pay). 

Or else they ne'er conld disclose it. 



AUTHORITY 

TiiEiiE is but one authority 
Since this old world began. 

And that is plain, right thinking 
In the honest mind of man ; 

And never doth opinion free, 
Xor truth, assistance need, 

From either royal prince or priest- 
Officialdom or creed. 



WOMAX TRIUMPHANT 

Tho' man has conquered this stul)born old world 

B}' his larger muscle and mind, 
Yet woman in turn has conquered the man, 

And his soul in her fortress confined; 
That impregnable fortress of deathless lov(>, 

That power supreme in the human ; 
Aye, no monarch so high, no peaS'ant so 
But willing has been, and glad to throw. 

His heart at the feet of a woman. 



low 



'AN UNACCOUNTABLE DROP 

If primal man, as science tells. 
Was lowest of the low, 

Just how he fell from higJi estate 
I swear I do not know. 



444 EP:MINISCEXT lilIY>[KS a^d otiikk vekse 

A SMALL WANT 

Oh ! ne'er contented could I be 

With one poor lonety flower; 
Instead of one, just give to me 

The bloom of all the bower. 
What single bud or bloom so bright. 
By turns, can charm the varied sight. 

And keep it charmed alway? 
What one of all of womankind 
Can charm the many moods of mind ? 

Give me the whole bouquet. 



MY MISSION 

Just what the Lord e'er made me for, 

I 've wondered many a time; 
But have finally concluded 

'T was to dabble deep in rhyme ; 
With being a poet I am content, 

It makes my proud heart throb ; 
But now and then I have to pout 
Against the Lord for turning out 

So very poor a job. 



THE TEAR SMILE 

What were the dawn, my dearest, 

Without the drip of its dew? 
And what your smile, the whole of the while, 

Without a tear-drop or two? 
A\lien up from your heart they softly start 

In a loving overflow; 
And sparkling bright from your lamps of light 

They shyly come and go, 
Not I, not I, to kiss them dr}^, 

When thus they softly shine; 
For in smile and tear thou 'rt twice as dear, ' 

And I know thou 'rt surely mine. 



SHORT rop:MS 445 

SURPLUS VIRTUE 

With the gentler virtues, we must confess. 

Not distinguished is man, "mere man," with excess; 

(And "horrid" is he without them). 
But better, far better, have none at all, 
Than, like some dear ladies whom I recall. 
Who ^re so greatly endowed with virtues rare. 
They daily fill all the neighborhood air 

A cacklin' loud about them. 



THE PAIN OF THE SOUL 

Forever there lurks the longing. 
In the heart and mind of man, 
For a haven of rest, in a future blest, 

Which never the ^eye can scan ; 
Aye^ forever and ever comes thronging, 
This joy of the soul, 
This doubt of the soul. 
This pain of the soul. 
Of longing and doubting and longing; 
Aye, forever we yearn and hunger 
For the chance again to be younger. 
To beautiful grow, and good ; 
This song of the soul. 
This hope of the soul. 
This pain of the soul, 
To beautiful grow, and good ; 
For another life, where the only strife 
Will be to be understood — 
To be wise and true and good. 



SURFACE HAPPINESS 

More ideal by far this life would be, 
And less would it have of woe. 

Would we take half the pains to be happy 
That we take in appearing: so. 



446 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER YEKSE 

MAERIAGE 

So SWEET a habit marriage is. 

That men will ne'er overcome it; 
But like a mirage in the skies. 
Too oft its wondrous beauty lies 

At a far distance from it. 
So many out are wanting in. 

So many in want out, 
That all not doubled up with love 

Are doubled up with doubt. 



A SPEINGTIME SUPERNAL 

Oh ! that the seasons were ever vernal ! 

Oh ! that the years were ever young ! 
A love-time, a dove-time, a Spring-time supernal, 
A dream-time, a cream-time, a May-time eternal, 

"When joy songs only are sung; 
AVhen never a chill or a v/ithering breath. 
Or a mournful wail of desolate death. 

Creeps the bright flowers among ; 
Oh ! that the years forever were vernal ! 
A love-time, a dove-time, a May-time eternal. 

When the fancies and feelings keep young. 



CHILD LABOR 

Oh ! the sweet, sweet joys of childhood. 

As fleeting as they are bright ; 
Oh ! days so brief, let ne'er a grief 

Bedim them with its blight ; 
Not theirs the days for drudging toil. 

Mid noise and dust and gloom. 
But mirth and song, where all day long 

Birds sing and flowers bloom. 
He who, for gain, would bitterness 

To young, bright lives impart, 
Hath a conscience sold to greedy gold. 

And a cancer in his heart. 



SHOKT POEMS 'i-i 

A PEACE PROBLEM 

AVhen cattle, sheep, and even geese. 

And beasts of cave and den, 
AVithout religion live in peace. 
Then with it, why ^s there no surcease. 

Of fighting among men? 



MAN'S TEUEST FRIEND 

Of all the welcomes in this life, 
Of lover, mother, child, or wife. 

When you 've been long away. 
What one exhibits love so dear. 
What one so hearty and sincere. 

As that of old dog Tray ? 
Not once he seeks to kiss your face. 
Not once he leaps for your embrace. 

But fifty times or more. 
Who else in you no faults can find ? 
Who else would take your cuffs unkind ? 

Still loyal to the core ? 
Who else would follow you around. 
In very joy before you bound, 

His whole heart in his eye ? 
Who longest for your death will grieve. 
Who from your grave is last to leave. 

Who'd linger there and die? 

Still faithful, starve and die? 
Ah ! you who ne'er a dog did own. 
True friendship have ye never known. 



COUPLETS 

There ^s none but to Heaven are anxious to go. 

If the road be long and the journey slow, 

* * * 

What matter your creed^ if your life be true. 

Be ye Heretic, Christian, Pagan, or Jew. 

* * * 

To die, to sleep, perchance to dream ; aye there 's the rub, you 
see; 

But have we not already been the nothing we dread to be? 

* * * 

What words so strange as these, that fall forever from lip and 

pen? 
That Christ alone 's our "only hope," as if God had gone back 

on men. 

* * ♦ 

There never will be a history true, of the world and all things 

human. 
Till one is written recording the wrongs of weak, confiding 

woman. 

* sjt * ' 

There's many a youth, in starting life, thinks he's a volcano 
new, 

Who finds, ere he 's erupted long, that he 's only a common flue. 

* ♦ * 

We teach the child that telling truth should be its constant aim ; 

But how very few as careful are in telling it the same. 

* * * 

We only just begin to live, as soars our ideals high; 

The moment that we lower them, that moment we begin to die. 

Men need may have of masters to teach them to fight and pray, 

But who boldly doubt and reason, no overseers need they. 

* ♦ * 

The future none can fathom, its mysteries none explore. 
But ne'er a wave lost in the sea but sure is of a shore. 

448 



COUPLETS 441) 

There 's many a person declaring that money 's the root of all ill, 
But give them a chance to win it, and they root for the root 
with a will. 

* * * 

What one of all love's curses (and curses a few has she) 
So wearisome, so worrisome, as that of satiety? 

i'fi ^ :{e 

So dependent we are on each other, so bound by the ties of birth. 
Why should any two folks be strangers in all of this beautiful 
earth ? 

* * ♦ 

You must use your brains if rich you'd be, and gullify your 

neighbor ;. 
Who ever rose above mere want by honest, useful labor? 

* * * 

Loudly in favor of knowledge all men declare and shout, 

But nothing can be more hated when it puts their faiths to rout. 

^ He 4: 

Those who believe the most, 't is said, the least are sure to know ; 
Because so easy comes belief, they lose the wish to grow. 

* * * 

So much more pleasant 't is to preach, than practice what we 
state. 

That thousands daily dogmatize where one will demonstrate. 

* * * 

To old beliefs men tightly cling, by prejudice gagged and bound : 
But even Popes perceived, at last, this scfuare old world was 
round. 

* ♦ * 

Faith, like weeds, spontaneous spring in by-ways, wild, forlorn. 
But facts from cultivation grow, as grows the wheat and corn. 

* * * 

E'en still submit proud clerg3^m'en to hobble, rein, and check, 
Lest shocked should be their hearers should they preach above 
the neck. 

:5s >!« i'fi 

The greatest love a man can show is not for the few of his heart. 
But, true to the few, make all others, too, of the love of hi.< life 
a part. 



450 



JiKMlNlSCENT lillYMES AND OTilEli VERSE 



Ko happiness can come to man, no jo3^s that soothe and bless, 
Like that which fine minds find at times in their own fruitfulness. 

* * -'fi 

The greatest courage a man can show, is to approach the Great 
Unknown, 

And, cutting loose from dead men's thoughts, go forward, fear- 
less, alone. 

You may live abreast of the thought of your time, and have Init. 

little dread of it; 
But courage and strength of the loftiest kind it takes to live 

ahead of it. 

That poet who breathes not the thoughts of his time 
'Need expect that men long will read his rhyme. 

* ♦ ♦ 

There ne'er was yet a society but jiad its low and high, 

But twixt the crusts you're sure to find the best of all the pio. 

* ♦ ♦ 

If God is omniscient and perfect, as commonly held to view, 
Then it certainly stands to reason. His works should be perfect, 

too. 

* ♦ ♦ 

Serenely sad and sorrow born is aye the sweetest song; 
AVithout the rain and the tempest no oak grows tall and strong. 

* ♦ ♦ 

To minds that rest on faith alone, no science can be fitted; 
No room have they for facts as long as miracles are admitted. 

s!: * * 

; 

Of all of the animal kingdom embraced in creation's plan. 

What one so great and loving, so vicious and brutal as man ? 

* * * 

Who permits his brain to be bridled, must burdened be like the 

beast ; 
Who prefers to be a thinker free is his own confessor and priest. 

* * * 

The sweetest part of human love is not its tale of confession. 
But the something ever unexpressed, the heart can't give ex- 
pression. 



\ 



COUPLETS 451 

To the Devil, it seems, belongs a power that even God can't 

fetter ; 
Since for men He sacrificed Himself and made them none the 

better. 

* * * 

Of all of man's miserable blunders, this the greatest by many 

odds. 
That never a temple he built to truth, while building millions 

to gods. 

* * * 

Who only dares to welcome truth, for telling it was made; 
Of the soul afraid of liberty, liberty should be afraid. 

* ♦ ♦ 

What binding tie in all the world, what fount of love and good, 
What other light so radiant, bright, as spotless motherhood? 

* * * 

Of all strange things concerning God, this the strangest is, about 

Him— 
It 's not till they try to prove Him that men begin to doubt Him. 

A hundred words some wise folks use, when as well would answer 

nine; 
A^^io wants to eat the whole of a hog, for a bite of tenderlinc ? 

Xe'er popular is reason, which to this fact is due. 
It e'er remains the property of the superior few. 

From ills of flesh and poverty forever men are shrinking, 
But nothing try they to escape so commonly as thinking. 

The deeper men are in error, the angrier tliey arc ; 

For when the}^ abandon reason, with common sense 11r'\' war. 

* * ♦ 

No matter how oft it suffers defeat, the firm heart ne'er will 
faint ; 

Despised be the weak resolve, and the whining yelp of coni])laiiU. 

* * * 

Fortune, to her spaniels, her favors mostly loans : 
It's seldom that a good dog gets tlie best of bones. 



452 REMINISCENT RHYMES AND OTHER VERSE 

If there ^s a poverty of nature, a nakedness, a leanness, • 
^T is that of a predestined saint that 's filled with petty mean- 
ness. 

* * * 

Parely the search for honors a successful issue proves; 

Then happiest, wisest far is he, who seeks that Avhich he loves. 

* * ♦ 

No matter how thick your skies with clouds, be game, and never 
say — die : 

For oft our bitterest, stormiest griefs but clear and purify. 

* * * 

Remember that time is all the same, not one part sacred, solely : 
Better to live six week-days straight than keep just one day lioly. 



A EETEOSPECT 

No MATTER from what grim depth of the night. 

Into this life of woe I was hurled, 
I \e breathed the blest air and joyed in the light 

Of this beautiful, beautiful world; 
Tho' I 've stood soul-deep in sorrow alone, 

And with anguish been tested and proved, 
No matter the pain, I would live it again, 

For I 'ye loved, ah, God ! how I 've loved ! 

Loved the bright darlings that bloomed in my heart. 

With a love dearer far than life; 
Loved color and form and beauty and art. 

Peace and her vic'tries, conquest and strife; 
Loved the fierce action, with truth at the stake, — 

For justice dared, and for progress wrought; 
And for souls deceived, and hearts that have grieved, 

I have fought, ah, God ! how I 've fought ! 

But never a laurel encircled my brow, 

Tho' I loved, and I fought, and ne'er quailed; 
And dying, I hear them say of me now, 

^*'He failed — he dreamed bright dreams, but he failed 
But some rescued soul from the depths of despair, 

Eisen, perchance, by some deed I 've done. 
May proudly declare — ^'He taught me to dare. 

And to think, and he won, yes, he ivon." 

Then say not that he failed, ye thoughtless throng, 

Nor ye chipping birds that twit away life; 
Tho' lowly he walked, his soul soared in song. 

Untrammelled, he dared, and led in the strife, 
Tho' he led but the weak against the strong ; 

And he won, not failed, if at last, o'er his bier. 
But one soul be set free, from its slavery. 

Should linger to drop there a grateful tear. 



453 



DEC 18 1911 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



»fc Iff mi 



.'illl 



